Bubble Gum and Tape

Pilot Boy and I bought a house.

At the time, it sounded like a great idea-- own our own home, be able to paint, decorate, destroy, etc to our heart's content and not have to ask a landlord if we could. Also, no longer throwing money away on rent! Whooo!

Granted, if I had to choose a place to buy a house, the one where we did, I wouldn't have done it. BUT, there were like no places to rent, we need a house, and we'd spent three years saving for a downpayment. (Of course, we assumed we'd be going to either South Carolina or Washington, not middle of nowhere land...but WHATEVER.)

We found a house on the ONLY day we looked at houses. It was like we were in our own House Hunters episode. We had three houses lined up to look at and choose from (not going to count the last house we looked at, as it was a duplicate of the one we bought, only plastered with carpet). We picked third house, as it felt right and didn't require a lot of TLC. I liked everything about it except the paint. You can change paint.

Flash forward a month and here I am, sitting in MY house sweating to death because the A/C broke last night.

Yeah.

It broke. The motor that pushes the air through the house gave up it's battle to cool me down and went kaput.

I lived the last three years without A/C. Anchorage doesn't do A/C. What do you do in Anchorage when it gets too hot to exist in your house because while the weather man keeps telling you it's a lovely seventy degrees, he fails to tell you that in direct sunlight it's 110 and no breeze?

You go to Fred Meyer. (Seriously, it was the coldest place in town when it got "hot" out.)

I think the hottest it got in the house the three years without A/C was maybe seventy-five. And I was MISERABLE. (I managed to drag my trip to Fred Meyer out for two hours that day...)

It's seventy-seven in here right now.

And it's just gonna get hotter.

Brilliant.

After discovering the reason it was so overly warm in our bedroom, Pilot Boy tried to solve the problem. Upon discovering the issue, he called the so called several twenty-four hour, seven days a week maintenance places.

No one answered the phone.

Bloody brilliant.

So, the first weekend with furniture in our house, we're going to bake to death. (Along with Basil Bea, the black dog who sunbathes while outside then wonders why she's hot.)

I expected the house to have some minor issues...besides the whole let's paint the ceilings the same color as the walls, find the most annoying shade of gold and use it and some sort of strange paint effect, but whatever. Paint can be changed! (You keep telling yourself that, Ireland.)

Yeah, it was annoying the oven and fridge weren't cleaned. Yeah, I don't understand why the microwave sometimes turns itself back on to move the tray back and forth after use. It was annoying when the water dispenser in the fridge spewed out water without prompting the first few times we used it. (It finally stopped.) Sure, it was irritating that there was no dryer tube to connect the dryer to the wall. (Pilot Boy later found the one that came with the dryer inside the dryer with all the packing paper...he failed to look before buying a new one.) Yeah, it was maddening they took the shower rod for the guest bathroom. (Why do people take shower rods? Seriously, just leave it behind.) Sure, the fact the dishwasher makes a god awful noise each time you open it is kind of vexing. (It sounds like a dying animal.)

But, you know, it's the kind of stuff I kind of expected. (Well, not the dirty fridge. It wasn't even wiped out, people. It was seriously disgusting and if I was bothered, that's saying something.)

However, did I think the A/C would DIE literally seven days after we signed the papers?

No.

Was I all that surprised?

No.

Pilot Boy said this morning this place is simply held together with bubble gum and tape. I would have argued before, but I'm currently doing a slow bake within my own house, so I'm thinking yeah. Bubble gum and tape.

Where I Will Make Some Lists

Things I Miss About Texas:

1. HEB

*Now why would I miss a chain grocery store? Because. Unlike many things within the state of Texas I detest, I have ALWAYS for some unknown reason loved HEBs. When I lived in Del Rio, it was mostly because it was something familiar (a real grocery store, not a pretend one like they had on base or Walmart. I loath Walmarts for the most part.) They had good produce and I'd spend my Friday mornings buying fresh fruits and veggies. When we returned to Texas, we did all our shopping at HEB because once more, the base store failed at life. (Seriously, the only good base commissary we've seen was at in IL. Seriously. The one in AK was well stocked, but priced similar to Fred Meyer).

2. Four Zone Weather
*While they failed at life at predicting when it'd rain sometimes (Weather man: It will not rain today! Ireland Scott: *looks out window and wonders what the water falling from the sky is if it's not rain*) I like the fact they had Doppler and could somewhat tell me the various weather in the various sections.

*tries to think of other things besides Target she misses about Texas at the moment and fails.*

Thing I Do Not Miss About Texas:

1. Humidity.
2. Access roads along side the interstate.
3. Their inability to merge.
4. Heat.
5. Bugs.
6. Did I mention the access roads?
7. It's hot there. And it doesn't rain enough. But it's humid. (Didn't I say that already? I did. I guess my list on things I do not miss is short as well.)

Things I Miss About Alaska:

1. The weather (all times of year. I like it.)
2. Their lack of highways and access roads.
3. Their local news.
4. The weather man who never knew what was going on and it was adorable because there's no Dopplar up there so he kind was just guessing anyways. (Weather guy: It might be snowing. Or not. I'm not sure. We'll see! Ireland Scott: Looks out window and laughs because it's snowing. Quite a bit.)


Things I Do Not Miss:

1. The dirt and tiny rocks they used on the roads in the winter that never seemed to go away.

Things I like about OK at the moment...

1. Lack of humidity.
2. It's better than the Dirt Hole.
3. No access roads!
4. The town I'm located within doesn't even have an interstate, so duh, no access roads.
5. There is an Old Navy and Lowes. Woot.
6. There are plenty of Mexican restaurants to keep Pilot boy happy.


Things I Do Not Like:

1. MILK IS LIKE FIVE DOLLARS A GALLON. WTF?
2. The cheapest place to buy things is Walmart and there is no Target.
3. Seriously, who decides the price of food in this place? And why am I paying full sales tax of food? What is wrong with you OK, I thought you were a red state, don't you hate taxes? Or did I learn that wrong?
4. It's hot. (like 100 plus, but it's not humid. Or it wasn't. It MIGHT rain today, so it's humid.)
5. The way they pronounce ALTUS during their ENTIRE state WIDE weather forecast on the news. Seriously, they do the ENTIRE state in board strokes. While I understand this, they never talk about where I am. Just ALTUS. And they say it all WRONG.

So, all in all, I hate very minor things. Right?

Hazards of Driving

Well, it was that time of year again...or time of my life, rather.

I packed myself up, threw it all into the Monstrosity and headed back down the Alaskan Highway-- only I changed it up and instead of spending weeks on end (or so it seemed) mucking through Canada, I didn't bother trekking across the country and instead took a sharp dive southward and kept going till I hit...Texas.

I hate Texas. And not just because I spent a year living in a dirt hole. No, I just...dislike it strongly.

I'm currently suffering from culture shock. Not all that surprising considering where I came from. I always seem to suffer from culture shock, or rather reverse culture shock. Going back to where I came always throws me for a loop. When I get somewhere odd, the culture shock never really gets me. When I went to Scotland, I adjusted easily. It was when I came back that was hard. It took months for me to feel at ease again and not constantly thinking, "That's wrong..."

When I left the Dirt Hole all those moons ago and went back to Chicagoland, it was the same thing. I was overwhelmed by the cars, people, stop signs, speed limits and where I was. I grew up in the area. It's seared into my mind's eye to the point it's easy for me to call up areas and write stories about them without needing Google Maps. And yet, I drove around with my Texas plated car and got passed on suburban streets for going too slow (also known as the speed limit) and beeped at when I actually used stop signs.

You see, I forgot how the people of Chicagoland drove. While I loved them for their predictability  I'd forgotten their lack of use of speed limits and stop signs. After living in the dirt hole where it was cause for celebration when someone went the speed limite and you got a ticket when you failed to come to a stop for three seconds, it was jarring to realize I'd get run over if I ventured out onto the interstates of Illinois.

So, I didn't. I kept to the mean suburban streets and thanked God I had Texas plates.

When I arrived in Alaska, I don't remember finding things jarring. They were strange, but in a similar way Scotland was strange once I got over the jet lag. They drove fast during bad weather and slow during good weather. Generally speaking, Anchorage drivers were predictable and I never honestly feared for my life when I drove around the city. I drove around with ease and never one felt road rage or had the urge to announce I was a FIB, don't mess with me. (This happened often in the Dirt Hole...)

I honestly can't say that during the times we visited the Chicago area during our three years in Anchorage, I feared for my life whilst in the car. I even drove a few times...I never wanted to scream, never wanted to hide or close my eyes and pray.

San Antonio....oh, how I hate you and your love affair with highways/interstates/access roads.

One thing I learned during my few visits to SA during my tenure in the Dirt Hole was this: SA drivers are not predictable.

Honestly. You never have any idea what the hell they might do at any given point. They go slow for no reason, change lanes without warning, fail to look when they merge and kind of just...scare the living crap out of me. The lanes are also extremely...narrow. And while they know how to paint lines (something no one in Anchorage has gotten the hang of for unknown reasons), sometimes they just don't paint lines and the road is SUPER WIDE and you've got no idea how many lanes a road has.

And I have only drive through SA once in my life. In a small s40. And I only drove on the interstate and never had to get off.

You can't get anywhere without using the interstates and loops and access roads here. It is confusing, annoying and frankly frightening because you never know what someone is going to do. And most people have HUGE trucks.

Granted, I've got a huge truck like vehicle, but still.

I refuse to drive. Pilot Boy keeps mocking me, as I love civilization and hate being in the middle of nowhere, and yet I'm a hermit.

A well dressed hermit who loves hangers, but still a hermit. Even more so now that we've only got one car and I refuse to drive it.

Anywhere.

I'll drive when I get to where I'm actually going, which is in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma. Till then, I'll sit around a pine for Anchorage and the mean suburban streets of Chicagoland (which are way less scary than the road system of SA).

Where Poor Basil Sits and Waits...

A month ago, Brother Unit showed up for a visit. Upon arriving, he requested we go to Thunderbird Falls to go for a hike. While not my ideal way to begin a trip after a seven hour flight, I did not fly anywhere. In the summer when my family invaded, Pilot Boy took my dad and Brother Unit there on the day they arrived because my dad wanted to "do" something.

My mother and I, being the sane ones in the family, remained here. In the house.

Because my brother and his friend weren't sane, I went along for this post flight hike. Because I'm not actually sane, I wore a mini skirt and leggings to go hiking.

Yeah, you read that right.

So, Thunderbird Falls is...a waterfall. It's an "easy" hike. (It's in quotes because there are hills and if you fail to know how I feel about hills, well, then we'll have to talk later.) A few weeks before Brother Unit and Friend arrived, Pilot Boy and I went there to do an afternoon hike. It was snowing and the snow was melting. All at the same time. Thanks to the record snow fall we had this past winter, by the time Brother Unit and Friend showed up, there was still a good deal of snow, but the creek/river/water thing was melted further.

And for some unknown reason, Pilot Boy went to investigate the water. Why? We won't ever know. What we do know: he fell in.

He did.

He brushed it off as the piece of "ice" he was on wasn't solid. It had nothing to do with the fact he lacks grace and coordination.

After checking out the raging water fall, we headed back. We were almost to the Hill of Doom (have you ever tried to walk down a steep included covered in melting snow? It's not fun. Highly likely you'll end up on your butt.) when Pilot Boy started searching his pockets. He handed me the dog and his backpack, but wouldn't tell me what he lost.

So, I assumed the worst.

He lost the keys. We were trapped in Thunderbird Falls!

No, he handed me those when I asked.

He walked off and jumped back into the river. The three of us left that weren't on four legs or in the water, stared at him. (Basil was like WHY WE STOP? WE ARE WALKING HERE PEOPLE.)

"What did he lose?" Brother Unit asked.
"No clue. He won't tell me."
"Was it his wallet? He was checking his pockets."
"Oh, crap."

Images of having to get new IDs flooded my mind. Credit cards. Money. IDs. I was getting a headache just imagining the issues if he'd lost his wallet.

Pilot Boy didn't seem to be making any headway in his search. I finally handed Basil Bea off to Brother Unit (Basil: SERIOUSLY, WHY ARE WE NOT WALKING PEOPLE?) I hopped down to where Pilot Boy was searching the ice cold waters for...something.

"What did you lose?"
He looked at me, then back into the water. He moved a rock.
"Come on, I won't get mad. What did you lose? Your wallet?"
"No," he sneered at me. He thought I was insane to think he'd lost his wallet.

Confession: I'm amazed he hasn't lost his wallet yet. Or forgotten it somewhere.

Pilot Boy looses things. It's how he rolls. Just this week, he lost the power cord to his laptop, rendering the laptop useless. As far as either of us can tell, the airplane he worked on last week ate it.

"What did you lose?"

I honestly couldn't figure out what he could have lost in the water that he was trying to find. I knew he had his phone, I had the keys and he claimed he still had his wallet. What else could he have lost?

"What did you lose?" I repeated.
"My ring."

It took a moment for those words to sink in along with the sheepish expression painting his features. He was scared how I was going to react to the fact he'd lost his wedding ring.

He fell in a freezing cold stream and his ring fell off.

I started laughing. Pilot Boy looked at me like I was deranged. I turned around, climbed back up to where Brother Unit and Friend were located and dumped the backpack.

"What did he lose?" Brother Unit asked.
"His ring."
"His wedding ring?"
"Yup."

Brother Unit also thought I was insane for laughing, as I was still laughing. Friend also thought I was a bit off my rocker. After securing Basil to a tree root (WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? WHY ARE YOU GETTING IN THE WATER? WHY ARE WE NOT WALKING? YOU SAID WE WERE GOING FOR A WALK, NOT A STAND) I hopped into the stream with Pilot Boy and Brother Unit and Friend stood along the shore, keeping a look out for something shiny. Friend took photos and tried to use her flash. I moved rocks and pieces of ice out of the way.

I stayed in that stream till the water began to seep into my hiking boots. (I did wear hiking boots with my mini skirt/legging combo.) I hopped out and watched Pilot Boy continue to search in vain. A few times Friend and I thought we saw something, but we never did find it.

Basil began to whine at some point. (HONESTLY, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? WATER IS EVIL. GET OUT OF THE WATER AND WALK ME. NOW.)

Somehow, I guess the story got out at Pilot Boy's work he lost his wedding ring. His boss asked him the other day if he was out of the dog house yet.

"Why?"
"You lost your wedding ring. Isn't your wife mad at you?"
"Actually, she wasn't very upset," Pilot Boy admitted.

And the boss looked at him as if he was mental. So, Pilot Boy came home and asked me if I was mad at him for losing the ring.

Do you want to know why I am not pissed as hell my husband lost his wedding ring? Because I've been waiting five years for him to lose it. And not just because he loses things. Granted, due to the fact he must remove the ring to whenever he flies (don't ask me why)---and it is highly likely he'll just randomly lose it due to that--- that was not why I have been sitting around waiting for it to go MIA. The reason I've been waiting for it leave him is because it was like two sizes too big. And he refused to get it sized.

When we bought our wedding rings, the lady at the jeweler handed him the ring sizer thing and said, "Try that one."

He stuck the first one she handed him. She asked him how it fit and he said, "I don't know."

"Is it too big? Does it slide off easy? Can you get it off?"

Pilot Boy slid it off, shrugging. He had no clue what to tell her about the size, since he'd never worn a ring before, so he said it was fine. This is typical Pilot Boy behavior when he's doing something he'd rather not and doesn't care. He just wanted a ring: plain, silver. The end.

He got that.

And within a few days of putting it on his finger, I knew it was way too big. I told him he was going to lose it. He kept saying he'd get it sized when we went back to Chicagoland, but he never did. Then we went to the Dirt Hole and they told him he had to remove it to fly. So then he refused to get it resized, even when it flew off his hand and across the room a few times. A few times since we've been in Alaska, he's said he wanted to get it sized, but then he decides no. It's fine.

Then he lost it.

And I got to say, "I told you so."

Best. Moment. Ever.

Hence, why I laughed. Because I've never really got him like that before. Even if I knew I was right and I told him so, he always has some comeback. That day, he just looked sheepish.

At least he didn't lose it like he loses most things: by forgetting them, leaving them behind.

It's been a month since he lost the ring and he still thinks he's going to find it if we go back to Thunderbird Falls. I roll my eyes. That ring is gone, dude.

Gone.

I bought him a replacement ring for a dollar. It was too big. He put it on the dog's collar and yesterday he broke it when he threw her collar at the fireplace for some reason. The ring shattered. At least I only paid a dollar. I'll get a smaller one the next time I go downtown. I'll buy a few.

Till I can drag him to get a proper ring, which might be in ten years....

Winter Perks

Things I Will Miss As Winter Ends

1. No need to mow the lawn. It's covered in snow.
2. Layers. Lots of layers of clothing.
3. The fact the sun isn't high enough in the sky to mess with the garage door. (The sun activates the motion detector so it won't go down.)
4. Darkness when I want to sleep.
5. The fact the town is cleaner in the winter.

Things I Will Not Miss

1. Shoveling snow.
2. Snow piles.
3. Snow.
4. Snow falling off the roof and freaking us all out.
5. Negatives temperatures.

It Won't Stop Snowing!

I live in Alaska. I know it snows. I know it ought to snow quite a bit.

PLEASE STOP SNOWING.

I can't see while driving. I'm pretty sure my yard is going to be FULL by the time spring finally shows up. And it won't be un-FULL till summer. (Yeah, it's that full.)

After thinking it was hazardous to drive through the streets due to snow MOUNDS, not street conditions, I took Basil out to the backyard. Okay, I let her out the door and she shot out.  Pilot Boy, months ago it seems, carved paths for the poor mutt when the snow got too deep for her to swim through on her own. She had been only using her well beaten path to the tree and never tore around the yard. But she's got paths now.

Though, under the tree is still her favorite spot.

I'm sure if she could, she'd chew that tree to bits. It did crack earlier this winter and a huge branch fell down into the yard during an ice storm. Since then, Basil Bea Dog has been slowly chewing the tree away. Today, while I was out with her, she discovered part of the branch that had been buried. I was minding my own business checking out our snow covered yard when I noticed her digging. Basil Bea loves to dig. It's an activity she learned from my father and brother during her stay in Chicagoland. Before she watched them dig a huge hole for the drywell for the sump pump, Basil Bea did not dig. Now she digs. Often. Today, she went digging in the snow. Strange on many levels, I went over to see what she'd found.

It was a STICK.

Basil Bea also learned to love sticks during her stay in the Chicagoland area. She learned to love a lot of things while there: walking, cold weather, snow, sticks, digging, turkey, carrots, cheerios, sleeping like she was drunk...(Side note: I miss my little drunken sailor. That bed bit the dust, so I no longer get a performance of Basil Bea hanging her head over the side of the boat.)

So, while Basil Bea dug and chewed on the branch, I ventured down the paths Pilot Boy carved. Partly to beat them down, partly to get far enough back to capture the snow on the roof. So, off I went.

Then I fell off the path. Right down into the snow up to my thigh. I was unable to photograph that, so I took this one, where it was up to my knee. I managed to get myself out of the hole, with Basil's help.

Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Basil was no help.


I fell in a few more times in my attempts to get myself back on the packed path. Basil came over after I was topside and sniffed out all the holes I'd made. Evidenlty, they smell good.

I did finally get a photo of the snow on the roof. The snow that is on the bay window, there? The snow is creeping again, away from the roof. It's annoying.

I also looked at everyone else's roofs. Even the people who "cleaned." We all look like we've got the same amount of snow.

It was snowing while I had Basil Bea out this afternoon. It has just finally stopped after a few hours, thank god. I don't think I can handle another major snow fall. Unless it takes out the tree in the backyard fully. I hate that tree.

Hazards of Alaskan Living

Snow.

We've had snow on the ground since October.

We do not own a snow blower. We own a shovel. Actually, we don't own it. It came with the house. It's a very nice shovel. Except when you want to shovel. I hate it when I have to shovel.

Our driveway is a slight disaster for a wide array of reasons. Snow, ice, snow, ice, rain, melting snow, the fact we only use one side of it because Suzi hates Alaskan winters. We got a good couple inches these past few days, so I ventured out to shovel.

I thought I'd make the driveway better.

It's worst.

For one, the tire tracks left by the Monstrosity are a combination of frozen snow and ice. I can't shovel them up. They are also growing as the winter continues, so they are pretty much one half of the driveway. I struggled for almost two hours trying to get the driveway shoveled till I gave up. It looked like a disaster area where I attempted to shovel and you still couldn't see blacktop. Also, it was REALLY SLIPPRY.

At least it snowed last night. So now you can't tell I even shoveled. Well, except on the side of the driveway I didn't get to and began new snow piles, as the ones in our driveway are over eight feet high. I can't throw things that high. With the shovel.

In the past few weeks I've also seen people cleaning off their roofs. The guy next door has some sort of special motorized roof shovel to clean it off. No one told me I'd have to worry about shoveling the freaking roof. Pilot Boy thinks it is stupid to shovel the roof.

"Takes away insulation."

So, we still have snow on our roof. All of it. Every layer.

Do I think if I had a snow blower, my attempt to clean the driveway would have gone better?

No.

I can't use a snow blower. Ask my mother.

Camping in the Tundra

What do you do when the temperatures are below zero and it's January in Alaska?

You go camping, duh. Where have you been?

Ireland 3.0 camps. In cabins. Not tents.

I only went camping to shut Pilot Boy up, if I am honest with you. He has wanted to do this whole ski to a cabin, spend the night and ski back since he ran across some people doing this very thing when he and his father met a few people doing just this activity. And giving up.

But never mind that! Those people were wimps!

He doesn't really know me, clearly. I am the biggest wimp in the world. I cry before they stick the needle in. I cry before they do anything that might hurt. Even if I know it won't hurt. I'm also terrified of the unknown, so going "camping" isn't exactly my cuppa tea.

I'd rather have a cuppa tea.

He wore me down though. First, he took me skiing, then he bought me skis. He then took me skiing a few times, and while it was clear as day I fail at life while on skis, he finally got me to make it a mile and not wind up in tears of frustration. Plus, we can take Basil! She loves snow!

I gave up. Simple answer to a complex question. I just gave up.

This is why I wind up doing things I ought not to be doing. Like skiing cross country, hiking through forest, fishing for halibut, driving from St. Louis to Del Rio, TX alone after moving ourselves out of our first apartment, eating tomatoes, etc.

So, after I made it a mile on my skis, Pilot Boy said, "We can go to that cabin that's only a mile in! You can ski a mile!"

"I need a bathroom."
"It's got a bathroom!"
"In the cabin?"
"Sure."
"Can we take Basil?"
"YES! HERE WE GO!"

Well, this cabin was only a mile in, and we could take the dog and there was a bathroom. The bathroom was not connected to the cabin in the least. It was the typical Alaska State Park outhouse. The cabin had no power. It was heated by a wood burning stove. And you had to ski to get there. Up and down hill.

I still do not get along with hills. AT ALL.

The one room cabin with wood slaps for beds was located two hours north of home in Denali State Park. On a lake. The lake was the draw for Pilot Boy as he wanted to fish. (More on this later.)

After driving and watching the temperate actually rise as we traveled inland and north, we reached the park. We unloaded all out stuff, put on backpacks and connected the sled to Pilot Boy and put Basil in her fluorescent orange coat and set off.

Getting there was actually easy, as it was most downhill. I was still frozen stiff though when we reached the cabin. I greeted the cabin by falling flat on my butt and getting snow up my back, as for some unknown reason none of my layers wanted to remain around my waist, protecting my back.

I fell again before reaching the cabin fully and Pilot Boy simply unsnapped me from my skis. So ended my skiing for the day.

Pilot Boy skied once more to the car to get more wood, as he did not want to use the wood left in the cabin. I figured we'd need to use some of it even after the second load arrived as the fire ate wood. Just ate it. As fast as it could. It did.

Also, I discovered, it did not fully heat the room very well, as things that were not located near the fire were somewhat cold/frozen/dead.

Pilot Boy assured me after I reached the cabin I didn't have to do anything except read. Kendi the Kindle (my wonderful high-tech e-Book reader device thingy) was frozen though, so the battery lagged the first hour we were there till I managed to warm her up. Then my cell phone died a quick death – I cannot stand silence as my ears ring unless there is noise about.

It was quiet. Or at least I assume it was quiet, as my ears were just going BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

But I digress.

Pilot Boy wanted to go to the cabin to ice fish. I think he must attempt all forms of fishing. He even dragged his fishing poles to Florida with us on our vacation. While Pilot Boy seems to do a lot of fishing, he doesn't catch much. Especially here in Alaska. I've seen him catch one fish in Alaska. (I didn't witness the halibut catch, but I know he caught those while we were way out in the ocean last June.)

I've never caught a fish in Alaska, except the halibut, which if I had had my way, I wouldn't have caught. But, that is not the point, the point is that ice fishing was a total bust. One: it was FREEZING cold. (Duh!)  Two: Fish knew it was cold and were like, aw hell no. We won’t bite. Go away until Spring.

Pilot Boy rented a cork-screw object called an auger in order to drill a hole in the solid ice. The lady at the joint kept asking him if why he wanted the non-motorized one. His philosophy was he didn't want to deal with gasoline. It wasn't till he was out standing in the freezing cold attempting to make his hole in the thickest ice known to mankind, he began to think maybe he ought to have gotten the one that would use gasoline as elbow grease. He finally made his hole, set up the ice fishing contraption and returned to the cabin.

The cabin. Where it was still cold if you were not within a foot of the fire, which was then far too hot.

I was still wearing both my coats (My Columbia shell, my brand new Denali, The North Face coat (which is a good purchase - I should not have allowed the price factor to scare me when I first got here, best coat EVER), my snow pants and boots. I was reading my Kindle with gloves on while wearing my hat and my hood.

At one point I turned around to find my poor dog shivering, while curled up on herself on the sleeping bags we'd unrolled. There was a reason Pilot Boy suggested we unroll them, but I cannot remember. Least to say, I tried to tempt the poor creature to the fire, but she was terrified of the metal that was immediately in front of the fire, for I guess a reason in her little dog brain. It never got hot, so who knows. She loves fire, it's like sun! Only at night!

Least to say, I ordered Pilot Boy to get her bed in his next trek to the car, which he did, which Basil refused to get in till bedtime, then she got out every so often to attempt to put her furry butt in my face and stop my breathing.

At some point, Pilot Boy figured out the secret to getting the fireplace to kind of work to the point where I did not need to wear all my coats. I kept my boots on and the North Face jacket. But at some point the hat did leave, and I was able to loose the gloves and Kendi the Kindle began to work properly.

After getting more wood, Pilot Boy dragged Basil Bea and I out to look at his hole in the ice. It was a horrific ski, but I was walking. Pilot Boy skied once and learned his lesson (this means it must have been bad, as usually for Pilot Boy to stop doing something I see as stupid, take a long time). Basil was THRILLED to be outside, ran around, jumped through snow drifts and was a happy puppy till she reached the lake. I'm not sure how the dog knew she was suddenly on the lake, but she kind of freaked out.

Basil hates water. Except if it is in her water bowl, or a bowl that is smaller than her head, she hates any sort of body of water. She will not drink from it, will not walk in it, will not swim in it, and will not go near it if she can help it. This might steam from the fact that within seconds of letting her into our home, we gave her a bath.

And then we proceeded to bathe the mutt three or four times because she was THAT DIRTY. She was confused and conflicted when ever we took her to the lake in the Dirt Hole, which continues to this day. I was trailing behind and knew that Basil Bea wanted more than anything to follow her Boy out, but she didn't want to walk on the water.

This water Basil feared was buried underneath her at least two feet (if not more) of snow, plus at least four feet of ice. Least to say, she wasn't going to get wet from the water, it was not going to do a thing to her. After dancing around where I assume the shore was, she darted out and did this rather insane looking walk that was honestly reminiscent of the first time we put boots on her paws. It was as if she had no control over her limbs. She stopped and seemed at a loss on what to do half way to Pilot Boy.

"Will you pick her up?" Pilot Boy called.

I honestly thought she was cold, so when I reached her, I picked her up and cuddled her. I realized that my dog was not cold, but terrified, as she CUDDLED INTO ME.

My dog doesn't like me, does not cuddle up next to me unless there is something wrong with me or with her. Since neither of us was feeling ill, I knew she wasn't cold, she was terrified.

"I think she knows she's in the lake," I told Pilot Boy.

"How?"

"I don't know. Dog sense?"

Pilot Boy scoffed at this idea, but after a moment, I put her down and she ran like normal. Clearly forgetting where she was. She danced around Pilot Boy, till she saw his hole and saw the water. She then could not for the life of her figure out what was going on. Pilot Boy complained the hole kept freezing. I was freezing so I started back. Basil Bea was fine till she reached the shore area and she began to do her crazy looking dance till she reached solid land. She reverted back to normal.

Winter in Alaska, the sun says goodbye early. Granted, we're in late January now, so it hangs out more than it used to, but it still sets and vanishes and refuses to show its face till after eight the next morning. After the sun sank, we discovered a few things.

1. There was little to do except sleep.
2. The light that claimed to work up to five feet away for reading, lit almost nothing.
3. Head lights worn constantly do not lead to good conversation being had, as I kept blinding Pilot Boy.
4. Going to the bathroom sucks.
5. The guest book is rather hilarious.

Pilot Boy read me the guest book before the sun really went away. While most people adored the cabin, thought it was the best thing ever, a few did point out the pitfalls. One couple somehow managed to get the fire going so much it was too hot to sleep. One woman had everything go wrong and she wrote at least five pages lamented this fact. I assume while she waited for her boyfriend to come back from Anchorage with her spare keys, as something happened and they couldn't break into her car. Or something.

Dinner was a can of clam chowder, which was cooked pilot style: in the can. Pilot Boy claims to do this all the time on his airplane, so I figured I might not die. We left the can sitting on the stove for a long time till it was boiling and then ate it. Then, at a loss on what to do in the dark with the only light coming from our head lamps, Pilot Boy took a "nap."

Granted this isn't much different from a night at home, I honestly got rather tired of reading by the head lamp, which are not made for reading. I really wished Pilot Boy would have splurged on a better light. (Once we got home, the light he bought warmed up to the point it worked properly...I finally managed to convince Pilot Boy the whole room had not been well heated by the fire. The fact our belongings were always frozen didn't seem to say this fact in the least...)

After a horrific trip through the dark and snow to the bathroom, we piled into our sleeping bags. Basil attempted to join us (several times), but her furry butt was not welcome. I'm allergic to Basil's furry butt, and wood burning fires do not like my nose either. While I had taken drugs, I was still rather miserable and I honestly didn't want to deal with a full-on headache. (Which, showed up the next morning in combination with my lack-of-caffeine headache.)

I did manage to sleep, have a few weird dreams about college, and woke up feeling...not as bad as I figured I would.

Secret to sleeping on a hard surface? Sleep on your stomach. It works. I've done the whole sleep on the floor a few times (cough, cough, cough, when we move and Pilot Boy refuses to stay in the hotel and extra night before our stuff shows up), and I never sleep and wake sore. Slept on stomach. Not sore. Couldn't breathe, but I was not sore.

Morning started out okay, till we discovered the frozen sandwiches. Frozen solid. In the "heated" cabin.

We packed up easily and started out for the car as after the sun rose. (Because the sun didn't have to come over the mountains that live around Anchorage, it seemed like the sun rose earlier up north, but it does not. The sun in Anchorage rises earlier, just hangs out behind the mountains a lot longer.)

I had not been looking forward to skiing in the dark, but by the time we were ready to leave, the sun was up. No more need for head lamps!

Skiing back was a massive failure on my end. I managed to get up the big hill I was dreading, as it was a gradual hill, not a steep one. The steep ones did me in. I wound up going backwards, no matter what I did.

Finally, Pilot boy snaps my skis off (I couldn't, as I was using my poles to keep me from sliding further down the hill) and I walked to the car. Carrying Basil part of the way, as Pilot Boy was terrified our dumb dog would dark out and get hit by one of the large trucks that was hanging out in the parking lot for the night.

Did I tell you our dog is heavy? And that she hates to be carried? And hates to be parted with her dear Pilot Boy?

Carrying Basil was more fail. I finally just let her go and she happily danced over to Pilot Boy and seeing she is currently asleep in her crate a few feet from me, she did not get hit by anything and lives to this day.

Nursing a massive headache, I got into the Monstrosity, whom by the way, was PISSED we left her in the cold overnight.

The Monstrosity was cold. Very cold.

I wound up sitting on our iPhones the whole way home in an attempt to let them warm up and charge quicker. And I kept Kendi the Kindle zipped inside my coat so as to not allow the battery to die because of the frightful cold.

We drove all the way to Wasilla (infamous home of Sarah Palin) till we reached breakfast. (We earlier attempted to eat the frozen sandwiches. I would not suggest that.) By the time we were there, though, it was lunch time. So I had hot coffee with my breakfast not-frozen hamburger.

And Life Was Better.

Once again, I flung myself at my couch upon returning home, telling it I was not leaving it every again. I repeated his action with the bed and Lucy the iMac computer device. I doubt any of the objects in my life believe me, as I promised this same promise a few days before and then left again. To go camping in The Tundra.

Least to say, though, I will not abandon them to go "camping" ever again. I'm not an outdoor girl, I'm not a camping girl, I'm not a roughing it girl. I'm a girl who likes flushing toilets and lights powered by electricity.

Sometime in the next month, I'll share the tale of Ireland and the Humid Florida Adventure.

What Feature Does Ireland 3.1 Have?

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.)

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.

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.)
 

View out the window in Homer

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....

The view from the boat

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?

I'm on a Boat

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.

The Big 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.

Fish Guts on My Leg

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.

Fish Go Flying to the Gulls

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.

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.

I Won't Hug Trees that Attack

It has been brought to my attention it is Earth Day.

Oh. Well, okay.

I've seen things about picking up litter, hugging trees, being green.

I'll do this: I'll try to remember to take my reusable bag to Target.

I won't pick up litter. It makes me mad. I don't want to pick up your trash, okay? If you want a clean place, THROW IT IN THE TRASH IN THE FIRST PLACE. I do not understand the attraction of dropping trash on the ground for the whole world to see. I don't even want to pick up the trash that is in my OWN FRONT YARD. I did not put it there. Why the hell did someone put a razor in my front yard?

I will not hug the trees in my front yard. They attack me. I do not know what it is about me, as they leave Pilot Boy alone, but they ATTACK me. I do not have good relationships with trees in the first place, as they make me sneeze, so the fact the two trees at our house insist on pulling my hair and dropping bugs on me when I mow the lawn....well, we hate one another, so I will not hug them.

On a different note: every day should be Earth Day and I wish Anchorage would recycle glass.  I understand how the whole recycle thing works, so I understand why the program is so limited, but it still makes me kind of mad.

*ends rant and goes to Target*

I Should Write a Post

So here I write one.

I hate spring.

Especially here because it's just ugly. The snow melts to reveal garbage people were too lazy to actually THROW OUT IN A GARBAGE CAN. The littering here is horrible. Seriously, what the hell people? Why don't you just go home and throw out your trash? Why does the city have to have a program to clean this place up for the tourists? It is lame. Just take your trash home and throw it out. (We do not recycle here. Well, we do, but only plastic milk jugs and certain paper products. Don't get me started.)

So, I hate spring here because it just makes me mad.

Mentally mad and then I start sneezing.

So then I get nose mad.

I did finally order a pair of sneakers. I don't own any sneakers that are...well, nice. I mowed the lawn in my pretend converses last year and my other pretend converses are currently covered in saw dust and other things from sitting in the garage all winter/summer. I have a pair of Ralph Lauren shoes my dad got me when I was in 8th grade from Macy's in New York City. I ruined them because I was stupid and 13. I still have them because I refuse to get ride of them because they are Ralph Lauren and my dad got them for me. I also still have the flannel Tommy Hilfiger shirt he got for me. I doubt I can get it buttoned, as I remember it being kind of smallish when I was 13. I'm like 10 times bigger in some areas. Okay, a lot of areas.

Operation Get Butt in Gear is still on. I just find it boring telling y'all about it. But here is where I am at: I still don't fit into all my jeans. I still weigh the same I did when I began this. Thus, I haven't magically lost 10 pounds. However, I feel better when Pilot Boy drags me on hikes. The "hills" do not KILL ME DEAD like they did last spring. I still HATE THEM, but they don't kill me dead.

Just for your information: start doing cardio training if you wanna see any water falls *cough, cough...Dad* So far all waterfalls have HILLS. So, start doing some cardio if you wanna see any water falls and NOT DIE.

So ends the post.

Skating to the Dentist

I spent some three hours on Sunday on the phone with my dad. Some of it was about why he had called, some of it was about how to restyle all my shop photos and how to make them more attractive to buyers. By the end of this conversation, I decided I needed a tri-pod. Target FAILED ME, so I was like, "I'll got to REI. I know what I want is there."

So, Monday morning, I hopped in the Monstority, started him up, and backed out of the driveway. However, as I skatted on the ice, I realized there was a light still on in the dash. It looked roughly like this: (!) with a little swiggle line under it. I was like, "Huh?"

I drove around the block and pulled back into the driveway. I pulled out the manual and looked it up. I mistook it for something wrong with the breaks, as it looked a lot like the ((!)) which means breaks. There are three different symbols for the breaks. Since Pilot Boy told me to get the oil changed, I was like, "FINE! We'll go see the dealer!"

I called, made an appointment for the next day.

After I did this, I remembered I had to go pick up more plastic trays at the dentist. Now, since I still thought my breaks were shot, I decided to walk the few blocks to the dentist. I always feel like a slouth driving there, but half the time its 1) a hazard to my health to walk due to the conditions of our subdivion in the winter or 2) raining or 3) I have other errands to run after I go to the dentist. (I got to the dentist a lot here...it's like the eye doctor in the Dirt Hole, only I kinda like going to the dentist. THEY KNOW ME! The Eye Doctor in the Dirt Hole never seemed to remember me till he looked at my chart.)

So, I put on my fancy The North Face boots with little "ice picks" and took a very deep breath. I exited the house and stared at the ice rink that is my street.

It has been brilliantly sunny for weeks upon weeks and the sun here is intense. It might claim to be 20 out, but in the sun it'll be 40. So things MELT like WHOA. Kind of. A few weeks back, they "plowed" the street down to the layer of ice that fell during the ice storm that hit in....November? But, yeah, so they took away all trackton on the street and turned the street into an ice rink. One must be very talented to walk on the street. I could have used ice skates to travel from my house to the main road.

I stupidly thought once I skatted through the subdivison I'd be good to go on some cement or something, but NO. I guess when they "plow" the sidewalks along the main road, they just make more ice rinks, as the sidewalks were worst than my street. I carefully walked along, praying I would not fall down and break something.

I passed a guy RUNNING on the ice sidewalk. I was like, "HUH?"

He said good morning, so I said it as well, as I was simply impressed he was RUNNING on the ICE in TENNIS SHOES.

Later I told the lady who gave me my new plastic trays and she rolled her eyes and said, "Yeah, there are some really crazy people here. My friend goes running every morning. Outside. On snow and ice."

I walked home and passed no more runners. And I managed not to fall.

Later, I took the Monstoirty to the Dealer.

There was a huge ass carpentry nail in the tire. It was HUGE. Almost as big as the screw I ran over in the Kar.

Also, the nice guy who took care of me at the dealer actually told me I DID NOT NEED MY OIL CHANGED. I was like WTF? WHO ARE YOU AND WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN MY WHOLE LIFE?

Oil changes and I do not get along, as every time I go, no matter where I am, the guys who take care of me try to rip me off. Because I'm a girl they think I'm a moron. With the Kar, they used to tell me my oil was dirty. The first time it worked, because I honestly did not know. The second time, I knew better and they were seriously pissed off at me and would not leave me alone about my "dirty" oil. After that, when I had to get the oil changed, I made Pilot Boy drive the car in and act like it was his car. They never told him he had "dirty oil." I hated them, so I refused to get the oil changed. With my Poor Volvo, we only changed the oil twice. And the second time, it was changed when I took the car in because the TAKE CAR FOR SERVICE message had come on and it was annoying the shit out of me.

Granted, the time I took the Monstoriy in, they did not try to sell me anything extra, but this time the guy looked at me like I was insane when I told me about getting an oil change.

"YOu've got snyntheic oil right?
"Yes."
"You've only got 11,002 on this," he said.
"I know."
"Why do you want the oil changed?"
"My husband seemed to think we needed it. Its past it's three month mark."
"You've got syntheic oil. You won't get your moneys worth out of it if you change it now. You've got...at least 4,000 more miles to go."
"I figured," I replied.
"Tell your husband," he said.
I rolled my eyes. "He knows. I don't know why he wanted it changed."

I am serious. I know how the fake oil works. Pilot Boy has told me. Multiple times. He's also told me how traditional oil works, especially after they place ripped me off with the whole "dirty" oil thing the first time I took it to get changed.

Oil is always dirty, people. If its not brown, it's not doing its job.