No way, Jose

Today, Pilot Boy sent me a text asking if I wanted to move to the Dirt Hole.

I said, "Over my dead body."

"How about for $10,000?"

"No. You can't pay me enough to go back."

Granted, then I began thinking....I've been there before. I know where things are, I know where to go to get things and I know how things work.

Then I remembered: It's the Dirt Hole. It's literally a dirt hole. I hate dirt. I'm not a big fan of holes.

So, I came back to my first thought: No way, Jose.

I still have this unsettling feeling, though, that at some point...I'll have to go back there and then I'll be trapped there. Again. Granted, it wasn't like it was THAT horrible, but the reasons it wasn't THAT horrible last time around won't be there next time.

Someone once said, while in the Dirt Hole, if you're happy to leave, you'll be back.

I cheered loudly the day we left.

I mockingly cheered when I came back to Texas.

I almost cried when I left Alaska.

I sighed sadly when I pulled out the shorts and it was February.

I'm not meant for hot locations. I seriously am meant to live where it's cold and dark. I thrive there.

The Dirt Hole is hot. The sun is bright. And storms go around it. (Storms don't even want to go to the Dirt Hole.)

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....

Writing Updates

I'm writing this to update the following:

1. My writing (as in novels)
2. My writing and entry for this blog that Blogger lost.

We will deal with two first.

I wrote a nice, long, detailed entry about my trip to Florida in January. It had pictures! It had links! It had funny stories!

Then it wouldn't publish. It was stuck. I SAVED THE ENTRY multiple times throughout the construction and before I put the pictures in. So, while I was sad I'd loose the pictures, I was like, whatever. So, I hit the back button.

Blogger saved THE FIRST SENTENCE. And the tags I added AFTER I PUT THE PICTURES IN.

I've been mad at Blogger for awhile now. My brother suggested I try Wordpress, so I did. Only, I don't know how to get y'all over there easily and still follow through Google, so here I am still.

Now, onto the first one.

Writing.

I do it. Daily. Often. Constantly.

This doesn't mean I have much to show for it. And by show for it, finished novels in order for people to actually read. Nor do I have readers. I have maybe three. My friend A read two things for me and got her comments back to me. I'm on the right track. A friend of my brothers has Summer Story. haven't heard a peep from her, but brother assures me it's covered in red (editing, suggestions...I quiver with excitement. Have been. For months. I am serious.) My other friend (S), is slowly getting back to me on 10p. Last time she gave me her feelings on the story, the story were heading in the right direction. She was feeling what she ought to towards the characters. Twas all good.

But I feel like I need more before I start querying myself around. I feel like 10p is ready to go. (And by go, I don't think it has any huge plot holes.) But I don't want to start doing anything till I get it back from S.

And I'm not in a rush. Other than my husband gave me a year deadline. (Well, it's a bit longer. I have till our next move.) And what is this deadline? I have to get a job. He doesn't care what it is, but I have to get a job that pays. (He doesn't think my selling purses is a job, though he did send me to a leather store...he wants me to break into leather. I think he's insane, but we all ready know he is nuts.) My current job (as a writer) doesn't pay me diddle squat. I just spend hours upon hours at it and have no $$$ to show. $$$ is important to Pilot Boy. And to me, insomuch I'd like some money.

So, now what?

I have several open ended projects. I get stuck and just stop writing. I banged out a bunch of EH stories and DM stories then got stuck on their final ones (well, I only started EH, haven't even touched DM.)

The 10p series is at a stand still. The last two stories of that series I don't know where I am going with them. They have a strong start though. I'm really bad at outlining and planning out. I just kind of sit down and start. And hope for the best. I know this is not the best way to go around constructing a story, but I'm honestly better at this than you think. And by that I mean, I do finish novels. I do finish them and I do have some vague sense of what I want to get to in the end. I have beginnings and endings in mind, just no middles. I know where DM and EH is going to end. I know this, I just don't know how to get them there in a manner that is a novel length long book. (DM has this issue more so than EH, not sure why, but E is much longer winded than D...) With the Four Girls series, I have the start of their series banged out, completed and ready to read. I'm missing Book Two, Three and Book Five. I have Book Four completed. And I have the ending of Book Five, plus bits and pieces. Only, I have changed up relationships and characters in re-writing things. I also don't know if I even want to write Book Three, or if I just want to glaze over all that and just use flashbacks in the next book to go over it. Mostly because the characters all all over the place (two in Scotland, one in France, on in Wisconsin.) Also, I only have ONE of the character's story lines for that book worked out in any sense.

But onto what I am currently working on while the other stuff sits around...

I am rewriting RAB for the third time. Why? Because it's weak in the current form it's in. I tragically discovered during my failed attempts to get my family to read it G wasn't likable. Or she had no purpose. No drive. Basically, G is/was me. So of course she has no direction, no drive, or desires. At her age, I had none. (Other than having better hair and clothes.) Also, in trying to insert romance into her story in my last rewrite, she ventured very far off her original track. After having A read it (she said it was cute, not her cup of tea and she felt that Greta ought to wrap things up, as I combined G's and AK's stories together as alone they weren't LONG enough...go figure), I felt that I needed to go back to the start with G. With all of them, actually. I got bored reading the new versions, something that hasn't happened ever with RAB. So, I tried to find the orignal version (before I changed up to make it more interesting) and rewrote it. I took out the romance in G's story, kept it as it originally was and focused more on the fact G simply wants to be around people who like her for who she is, as her main issue in life is that she is G and people like her only for her name. (This is an ongoing theme for the poor girl, as she deals with it again in her second book.)

It took me forever to rewrite G's story for one reason: Pilot Boy.

He is a pest. He's worst than the dog sometimes with bothering me, interrupting me, and demanding my attention like a three year old. (I love him, still, but seriously.) I try to write while he's at work, but he's on an assignment where he's 'bored" all the time. Till I put my foot down and he gave me a year to do whatever, I couldn't actually type out a whole scene without him texting me, calling me, messaging me in some form. I used to be able to multitask, but as I've gotten older, when I am in the writing zone, I find it's best if I just STAY THERE. Then it all pours out before I forget. (A concept Pilot boy has issue with.)

Finally, we came up with the Blue Light. The blue light is this stupid light I got from IKEA when I was in high school because I thought it was cute. How can I light be cute? Well, it's got feet. And looks kind of like a cartoon character of a light bulb. I had it throughout college in my dorm room. I hardly ever turn it on because it's kind of stupid and gets really freaking hot. Since we moved to Anchorage, it's lived on the desk. So, after having a small battle one evening after Pilot Boy came home, he said, "FINE! If this blue light is on, I will leave you alone!"

I turned it on right away.

Well, the blue light is on, so I'm going to go write some more before dinner. Get a few more scenes banged out.

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.)

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.

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.

Weekend Adventures for Basil Bea

After finding out he was not going to Hawaii this weekend, Pilot Boy decided he was going to ski from Russian Jack Park to Earthquake Park. There is actually a trail that goes that far through the various parks of Anchorage. He did not ski down Northern Lights. Which is a street. That you and the crazy people of Anchorage drive down. The crazy people of Anchorage usually only cross country ski in parks. (Though I have seen people skiing down the sidewalk on Turpin Road/Street.) But, he did not want to ski out to Earthuqake park and then back home. So, I dropped him off and then loaded Basil Bea Dog into the Monstrosity and drove her to her favorite park in the whole wide world.

And then she went NUTS.

First, I locked her in the trunk because she hopped into the car and went into the trunk. So I put the middle seat up and left her back there. She wasn't sure what to do about this, but she was like, well, okay. Then, we pulled into the parking lot of the park and she saw her BOY! AND SHE WENT INSANE. She twirlled, whined, flipped over. Then I let her out and she REFUSED to put her leash on. I was like, "You are not leaving this car till you get this on, DOG."

"You think so? Fine. Put the chain around my neck. Good? Okay, later."

And out she went. I did not realize the leash was not attached to her chain. So I went running after her while Pilot Boy loaded his skis into the car. After I got her leashed we stood around for awhile while Pilot Boy put his boots back on and then....Basil Bea....saw....other...dogs.

Lots of dogs.

So what did she do?

She sat down and made lots of loud crazy noises. I am not sure how to discribe them as they were somewhere between talking and whining and something else. It was a very unique noise. So, when Pilot Boy was ready to walk, SHE PULLED ME DOWN THE SNOW LADDEN WALKWAY TO THE DOGS. Making this strange noise the whole way.

The dogs and Basil all sniffed one another's butts, then I was like, "Okay, you said hi. Let's go. We're walking, not playing."

The other dogs were not on leashses (even though it clearly states your dog must be leashed, but most people in Anchorage do not seem to leash their dogs) so they followed us down the path, sniffing and barking at Basil, who was like OVERLOAD!

She pretty much made vocal noises for the rest of the trip, had hissy fits when other dogs did not pay attention to her (one dog was chasing after his owner on skis and paid no heed to Basil Bea). She danced through the snow, dove head first in a few times, and tried to make all dogs pay attention to her. After a short walk (Pilot Boy was cold due to the fact he was sweating to death), we loaded Basil Bea into the car and she sat in the seat (Yes, she sat in the seat. Like a person would sit in a seat. This is how she rides in the car since the issues we had at Thanksgiving. It is like she knows if she doesn't sit still I will LOCK HER TO THE SEAT.) and was smiling the whole way home. Then she danced around the house all evening.

Yesterday, Pilot Boy made pull pork for dinner. Basil was fed dinner around the same time we were eating. Basil Bea eats...oddly for a dog I guess. First, she usually sits while she eats. And she has NEVER eaten quickly. She usually eats pretty slow for a dog. Unless she's stressed or excited, but usually she's just NOM NOM NOM. Anyways, she also has this strange habit of taking a bunch of food into her mouth, walking to a different location, dropping it carefully and then eating it. Hit repeat a few times and then she sits at her bowls and eats. Well, we were making our pulled pork sandwiches and I was going to toss a small bit into her bowl (she was being a good puppy). Pilot Boy did it first, as soon as she had backed up with a bunch of food in her mouth.

EXPLODING PUPPY FOOD!

She simply dropped the food from her mouth as quickly as possible and dove head first into her food bowl to get the tiny piece of pork. There was dog food all over the kitchen floor, rolling everywhere. Pilot Boy and I laughed, as it was the funniest thing we'd ever seen. I had not realized when she sat down a mere six inches from her bowl, she had a mouth full of food. I thought she was waiting for her piece of pork. Nope. Later, after she licked her bowl clean, she looked around, took a drink of water, then realized "HEY THERE IS DOG FOOD ALL OVER THE FLOOR! BEST DAY EVER!"

She then cleaned the floor of the exploded puppy food.

All in all, Basil Bea seemed to have a pretty good weekend.

Up hill means up hill

My husband has this crazy idea that we should hike while we live here. His idea of a hike and my idea of a hike are two very different things. What is his idea: a walk up a mountain, the higher the better. What is my idea? The flatter the better.

If I am honest, I hate hiking. I'd rather just for for a walk.

Today, he wanted to get up early and go hiking and see the sun rise (he is insane.) Least to say when I got up at nine am (OMG I MISSED THE KICK OFF!), he thought I was getting up at two am. Least to say, we missed sun rise. However, an hour after we got up, we were out the door to go to this place to walk to a lake. He told me the following it: it was only a 700 foot rise and it was only five miles and it was an out and back.

We loaded Basil Bea in the car and I took my iPhone so I could keep track of Da Bears (who were playing, but we did not get the game, so I had to keep track of it via twitter). We drove down to the highway by the water and took a nice scenic drive.

I then, while we were in the car, glanced at the trail book we had and saw that the travel was marked at rocky and it claimed it took 7-8 hours to complete. So I yelled at him and he assured me we'd only do part of it.

So, we get to this train and it is right by this lovely waterfall and I think, "Oh this will be nice."

It was not nice. It was rock climbing. Except without the rocks. The trail was almost none existant in some areas and straight up in others. I was pretty sure by the first ten minutes we'd done the 700 feet Pilot Boy had claimed the trail rose. And it kept going.

What did not help the matters was that Basil Bea Dog seemed to be on drugs. I am serious. She was on crack or the dog version of cat nip. She was CRAZY. She was turbo puppy. She dragged me up. She then tried to kill Pilot Boy on the way down several times. Till we finally set her free and she went running wild all over the place sniffing everything and then running back and forth and it was like she really was on drugs. She was a drugged puppy and what really made it odd was the fact when we got home, we discovered she had not eaten her breakfast.

We ended up turning around after we climbed up this one part and the trail almost vanished and I almost killed myself. I did not realize the climb down was going to kill me more, though.

All in all I learned that I cannot trust my husband when picking out hiking trails. He doesn't read the book in the least. He didn't read it till we were enjoying Starbucks in a safe parking lot. He was like, "Did you read this?"

"No. I just glanced at it."

"It says the trail goes up to 1,000 feet or so and pretty much discribes it how it was," he said. "I didn't read it either."

"HOW DID YOU NOT READ IT?"

He just shrugged at me. I swear, sometimes he really does want me to just drop dead on one of these crazy hikes he keeps taking me on.