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.)

The World Turns, I Get Older

Last year, I kind of freaked out about turning 27. And by freaked out, I spent the whole day feeling old and...unaccomplished. Or I guess disillusioned would be a better word.

Well, I'm 28. And...I'm pretty much in the same spot I was last year. Only, I have more hair. And five pounds around my middle. (It comes with getting old, or so I am told every time I complain about it.) We also have more snow on the ground than we did a year ago. And I didn't shovel it. Unlike last year, when I went outside in a thin sweater and shoved the driveway without gloves. I whined this morning I can't find my gloves, so I can't do it.

Like last year, I am thinking about ten years ago. Why? Because I remember being 18, just as I remember being 17. When I turned 17, I honestly didn't remember being 7, as I don't remember much about being 8. Other than I had long hair. Useful, I know.

Anyways, when I turned 18, the following happened:

1. Monsters Inc came out. It was the ONLY thing I wanted to do for my birthday. Really, I want to go see a movie? On opening night? That's a cartoon, fine. It was all I wanted. I didn't get it. Due to teenage drama, the showing I wanted was sold out. So, I didn't see the movie till the following weekend and I was cranky. Because...of teenage drama. Today is Wednesday. No movies come out today I want to see. I have no desire to see movies. Because...I am old. And I am a hermit, so I'd rather stay in my house and use Netflix.
2. My best friend gave me a SUPER SIZED Hersey's bar. Seriously, it was like two pounds of Hersey's bar. And I kept it under my bed. Why? Because that is where I kept junk food when I was 18: under my bed. Gross, I know. Now days, at 28, I keep plastic bins, suitcases and boxes of junk that never got unpacked because it should have been left in Del Rio. (The Hersey's bar remained under the bed till the spring when my mother was like, WILL YOU DO SOMETHING WITH THAT?! So I made cookies. Or something. I don't remember. I just remember it was under my bed for the longest time and I was honesty tired of chocolate by the time I finally smashed it up to make cookies.)
3. I got my blue book back. Which I am currently staring at. Because a few months ago I had my mother send it to me along with all my other journals. I was a writing fiend as a teenager, especially at 18. I don't keep one now. I tried, but, I'm so boring and...not filled with teenage angst. I find keeping this blog hard enough.
4. I remember what I wore that day. And the fact I spent three hours curling my hair into tiny, tiny cork screw curls. The very ones one of the teachers asked me, with a look of awe on her face, "How long did that take you?" It took three hours and by the end of the day, my head hurt from the tug of the ponytail I wore my hair in with the complicated rolls I wore on top of my head. It was a very complicated style and I only wore it twice in my life. It was a total pain. And actually, kind of looked stupid.
5. I had never been in love. I thought I was in love at 18, but I really wasn't. I read a book last night that described falling in love perfectly. (Well a few, but this book really resonated with me, I'm not sure why, but I'm going with it.) You fall. You do not think about it. I just happens and requires no thought or doubt. At 18, I was filled with thoughts and doubts (I have five volumes of journals telling me so much). At 28, I just know. The first time I fell in love, I just knew. It wasn't dramatic. It was the simplest thing in the world. (The falling part, after that, not so simple.) At 18, I felt no relief, only angst and drama. I worried. I was paranoid. I listened to songs and the more angsty the lyrics, the more dark, more drama...the better. I...don't do that any more. I don't see relationship with Pilot Boy in angst-ridden, dark, dramatic songs. Now, I just see CHARACTERS that are in my head in songs I like. Seriously. I no longer have songs, my characters have songs. Stories get songs. My life, not so much.
6. Point six is mixed in with point five.
7. 18 was the first birthday I viewed as a total disaster that I remember. I honestly don't remember turning 15, 16, 17 or anything before that. Those just happened. 18 is the first birthday that burned itself into my mind and refused to let go. And until I turned 21, I had horrible birthdays. They were just...horrific. I always had a horrible day, there was always some sort of drama that unfolded that left me feeling like total shit by the end of the day. When I turned 21...nothing happened. I am serious. I was also deliriously happy, but on the actual day of my birthday, honestly nothing happened. Well, things happened, but nothing that happened due to the fact I was turning 21. I got up late, missed my first lecture, walked to my room in the early morning cold, changed for lunch and then just went about my day till I returned to my room on a hill and fell face first into my bed and fell asleep for an hour. I then woke up, made a Chinese instant meal, ate it in my freezing cold room, was dragged to a party downstairs for like five minutes and then fell asleep. It was...the best day ever. It was the day I fell in love with Glasgow. From that day forward, Glasgow was the best place on earth as far as I was concerned. So much so, I still write love stories about it. And...it's Glasgow.
8. I have something in common with my 18 year old self, though. At 18, I still thought, deep down, I'd be a writer some day. I was beginning to give up this goal, as I had realized sophomore year there was no money in it and I wanted lots of money, but I didn't really give up the writing dream till much later on in my life. And I didn't pick it up till roughly a year or so ago. And since then, I've been working. While Pilot Boy might not think I am "working" I think I am working. I might not be getting paid at the moment, but I write, edit and revise daily. I read for research. Hell, I do research. I never did that before. I just wrote. I thought writing was just about writing the story. I always wrote what I knew, but even doing that...research is needed. I have spent the past year researching colleges, cities, staring at maps of Glasgow, London, Dublin and Chicago. I research names, last names, first names, middle names, back stories, houses, floor plans, and meanings of words in dead languages that no one knows how to speak. I draw maps, I look at maps, and I create entire universes in my head. I spent a whole day figuring out the Scottish schooling system and then another four hours making a freaking class schedule for a character. I spend time scouring the internet for snip its of Scottish/English/Irish/French/Southern American/Etc in order to be able to write out what I hear. I read books I would never read in the name of research. My 18 old self...read Harry Potter.
9. I didn't feel any different when I turned 18. I was an "adult" and yet I did not feel very adult like. I honestly felt like I was not old enough to do the things that 18 year old kids are allowed to do. I didn't think I was old enough to be voting in elections and I had no desire for cigarettes or any of the other things 18 year old kids can buy. I still don't honestly feel like I am old enough to do some things. Something happens after you turn 25, though. You forget how old you are. I walked around this past year, when I was 27, thinking I was 28. Pilot Boy tried to convince me the other day he was only 25 and I was 26. I had to actually do the math to figure out how old I was. And was really confused to find out I was 27. I did the math like five times. At least, this year, while thinking I am 28, I'll actually be 28.
10. 18 year old me burned herself with the curling iron. Often. 28 year old me burns myself, but not usually with the curling iron, as I don't use one as much as I used to. I do, though, usually burn my fingers because I refuse to wear that stupid heat proof gloves that came with the rod thing I bought and use because it makes the most natural looking curls. No, 28 year old me (who was 27 when most of these things happened) just burns herself on the oven, the stove, and the iron. And sometimes the hair dryer. But not as bad as when I was 15 and I dropped it on the back of my neck. I used to balance it in a tissue box over the side of my dresser and then sit under it and blow dry my hair straight and flat. (This was before I knew what a straightening iron was.) One day, the blow dryer fill, right on my neck when I had my head bowed to dry the back of my head. (This was the year of the mushroom hair cut, so I had short hair.) Least to say, I had an ugly red mark on the back of my neck that looked alarmingly like a hickey. And I had no boyfriend to give it to me. I had to go to church and everyone saw it, as I didn't know it was there till I got to church. No one believed I had burned myself either, as it was on the back of my neck. How do you drop a hair dryer there? I had no clue why no one believed me, either, as I thought it was rather well known I had no boyfriend.

Well, there. My birthday entry. Today has nothing speical in store. Other than some eating. I ought to eat lunch today before three pm. Which was when I ate yesterday. Because I forgot. 18 year old me always ate lunch at 10.30 am. As I had fourth hour lunch. 28 year old Ireland, has no lunch time. Sometimes she forgets to eat lunch.

Just when I thought I'd stop lauhging....

Tonight, I spent a half hour trying to stop laughing after watching "The New Girl." Then, I came up stairs to get ready for bed, read, and turn off. When I wake up, I'll be 28 and that, if I am honest, kind of freaks me out. Then, I found this. And I was like, "WFT, he can freaking sing too?"

But, it did get me laughing again. Hopefully it won't be like the other night when I could not stop laughing. I was laughing so much and so hard, Pilot Boy thought I was crying. So, view at your own risk.

We Don't Match, but We Always Go Together

Four years yesterday, I married my best friend, with whom I have next to nothing in common. I like to read, he hates books. He likes to do crazy things like climb mountains and run. I'd rather stay in the house and get fat. I like to talk about nothing in general, he never opens his mouth except when I'm busy. He likes really, really bad movies that I cannot stand. I like really bad pop music he cannot stand. Most of the TV shows I like he cannot stand. I like to be alone, while he likes to be surrounded by people. (He will deny this, but it is true. He is a little social butterfly, while I am a well dressed hermit.) But, for some unknown reason, we cannot get enough of one another, so we got married.

And we didn't have a rough first year. Our first move - from IL to the Dirt Hole- was kind of rough, but only because he wanted TO MOVE HIMSELF. Pilot training was easy. Once we actually got in the car to move to Alaska, it was very easy. The first deployment was actually not as horrible as I figured it would be. I only cried because the dog freaked me out by getting sick. At midnight.

So, four years ago, after forgetting his passport and birth certificate (both items claimed to be needed to get married most places) we got married. And five years after he broke my Fossil watch, and four years after I started begging him to replace it, I finally got a new watch.

I loved my Fossil watch. It was blue leather, had a medium sized cuff and a rectangular face. It went with everything and was perfect.

Till the battery died. Some three years after I got the watch off of eBay. (It was my first eBay purchase too.) And, for the life of me, I could not figure out how to change the battery. Now, I am kind of dense, but there was no real way to get at the back of the watch due to the leather cuff. The way the watch face was connected to the cuff band, there was absolutely no way on Earth to get to the back of the watch face to change the battery without ruining the gorgeous, blue leather cuff band. This was tragic on many levels, so ended the days I wore a watch.

But I missed my blue leather cuff watch. I loved wearing it with all the little blue seed bead bracelets I made to go with it. I missed knowing what time it was, as when I owned the watch, I was in college and I never carried my cell phone with me anywhere on campus. Tragically, this meant I never had a clue what time it was.

After I met Pilot Boy, I noticed he wore the most gorgeous watch. It was a Swiss Army watch, but it was elegant, not bulky and....sporty. Now, Pilot Boy has nice things, but his nice things always seem to have a hard life. By the time I showed up in Pilot Boy's life the watch had all ready been busted once due to him shoving his hand in a gigantic magnet or something and the battery was...flawed. At some point, the watch began working again, only the stop watch function does not work any more. Not that he uses it. Then, shortly after I met him, the band on his watch broke and for the life of him, he could not find a band for it. How hard is it to find a brown, leather watch band? Evidently hard when you want it to fit the Swiss Army watch face he has. When he finally got a new band, he then wore the life out of another battery. This was three years ago. I began to steal his watch last summer. It's way too big for me and Pilot Boy kept telling me, "That watch is too big for you. The face is HUGE."

I did not care. I reminded him he broke my beloved Fossil watch.

Pilot Boy never did like my Fossil watch as he viewed it as junk, so he wasn't too bothered it broke the day he decided to pry the watch back off while keeping it connected to the cuff band. He managed to get the back off, keep the band intact, but the hands on the watch....fell off. I am serious. The moment he got the back off the watch, the hands both fell off. So, I chalked the poor watch up as a lost cause and began to demand he get me a new watch.

He refused to buy me a new Fossil watch.

"Those are junky. Why do you want one of those?" he asked.
"My watch is not junky."
"It fell apart when I took the back off," he reminded me.
"Your stop watch function on your 300 dollar one doesn't work!" I countered.
"I put my hand into a super magnet."
"Why?"
"I don't remember."
"I want a new watch."
"Then buy a good one."
"I'm not paying 300 dollars for a watch!"

During this conversation, I had no idea where he'd found 300 dollars to buy a watch, as he was still in college and I didn't have a job yet. Well, I had a job, but I didn't even clear 300 dollar a week.

After we got married, I told him I wanted a watch for Christmas. I sent pictures. I sent links to watches. In return I got back all sort of ugly Swiss Army watches. I pulled him to look at watches in the stores when we'd go to the mall. He's roll his eyes and tell me to stop showing him junky watches.

Since we've been married, if there isn't something pressing I want, I have always told him I want a watch. One like his. Especially after I stole it and started wearing it, wishing the band had a few more holes so it'd fit my wrist.

I gave up hope after year three of not getting a watch. I wasn't even suspicious when I got an email a while ago asking me what I thought about white watches. Now, you might think this would set me off, alert me to what he was up to, but you do not know Pilot Boy very well.

I get asked random questions like this all the time and usually, they have something to do with someone he knows. Or sees on the street. I actually thought he was asking me what I thought about white watches because someone in his office was either wearing one/getting one/or talking about them. It's happened before. And usually, Pilot Boy does not ask me what I want. Or if he does, he ignores it completely. (This is how I wound up with a iPod, a heart necklace, a stainless steel tea kettle, a TARDIS cookie jar, a WWII pilot sweetheart bracelet, a jumbo sized photo of the inn we were married at, fleece socks, and mug of Queen Elizabeth's jubilee.) The only time he's listened to me was when he was trapped in OK for the fall and I got the pants and sweater I requested from Victoria's Secret. The other times when I get what I request, I drag him to get it. (This is how I got my Oakley sunglasses and Basil Bea Dog. Though, if he hadn't gone that day with me, I more than likely would have come home without a dog...I was overwhelmed. And he wouldn't have gotten Basil Bea if I hadn't wanted a small dog, as he wants a HUGE one.)

Other than that, he never listens. Or pays attention. Or remembers.

So, I was rather surprised yesterday when he handed me a paper bag with abstract artwork on it and said, "Here. Happy Anniversary."

It was heavy. The weight made me feel guilty (I got him underwear. I almost always get him underwear or something practical because...he never buys these things himself). By the time I pulled out the heavy box, I felt really bad. I still had no idea what it was till I unearthed it from the box with in a BOX it was in. OMG. The container the watch showed up in...is insane. It is so complicated and....a lot of packaging. After getting through the layers I found a....white watch. And then I felt horrible. I'll level with you, my anniversary sneaked up on me. I mean, I knew it was coming, but suddenly it was the day of and all I had was underwear to give Pilot Boy. My presents always fall flat next to what he gives me.

iPod - Woolworth's fleece blanket
WWII bracelet - chocolate and card telling him I am a monster (Because I hadn't gotten him anything for Valentine's Day because I thought we were going to dinner at a fancy restaurant. He woke me up before work and asked, "Do you want your present now or later?" Small panic, I chose later.)
White gold necklace - shampoo and socks
Jumbo photo - kitchen utensils.
Queen Elizabeth mug - nothing (I hate Valentine's Day. I've never wanted to celebrate it, so I had told him since we were moving to AK, we'd just forgo, but as usually, he didn't listen...)
Stainless Steel Tea Kettle - sweater
Fleece socks - a cardboard chest to keep things ( he had told me i couldn't spend more than five dollars on his first v-day gift after he gave me the sock the weekend before and I was like, WTH? We weren't exchanging gifts!)

I SUCK at getting gifts for Pilot Boy. Seriously, I really suck. I remember, at some point, I was really good at getting gifts for people. I would just walk into shops and WHAM, something would strike me as so (Fill in the black). And now....I just see things I like. It is horrible and self centered, but I try to go into gift mode and it never works. I also no longer know what to tell people I want. And now I'll have to think of something other than a watch to tell Pilot Boy...as I have a new watch now.

That is white and huge. Just like his watch, only in white. And with a smaller band.

And 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.

I'm a Reading Machine, Hear Me Read

I just finished mowing the lawn. For the last time....this year. I hope. It was finally sunny. I ought to have gone out and mowed it...last weekend. Buuuuuuutttttttttt, I didn't. I stayed in and read. Which I've done. Daily. For. The last...month? I'm lame.

Books I've read in the past month:

The Circle of Magic (Sandry's, Deja's, Tris's, and Briar's book. There are four books and I read at least two of them (Sandry's and Tris's) when I was 14. The summer before I started high school, I think. I might have read Deja's book, I don't remember. I never read Brair's book. Anyways, I re-read or read them all finally, as they appeared one day on my Kindle search for Tamora Pierce. I was like WHOOOO. They are brilliant as usual. I fell in love with Brair. I didn't like him too well the first time I read the books, Tris being my favorite character, but this round, I found Brair fascinating.)

The Circle Opens(Another four books that have titles. But I am lazy. I don't feel like looking them up. I just mowed the lawn and feel like death. Anyways, I read them in order. I think. I started out with Sandry, who was the only one who remained in the town where they'd all been brought together in the first place. In the series, each new Mage gets a student. And none of them really want a student. Sandry and Deja kind of suck as teachers and are the ones who are least inclined with their students. Briar isn't inclined, but he winds up being the best teacher. And it is not because I am bias that I say this. He's the one who quickly accepts his role and embraces it. However, I can tell from reading about 14 year old Brair, he's going to be trouble as he gets older. And enjoys it. Tris's book, though, was my all time favorite out of the four. I liked her student quite a bit and I liked witnessing the changes in Tris.)

The Will of the Empress. (Totally a GREAT book to wrap up the whole Circle series. I know there's another one, but it doesn't feature Sandry, Deja, Tris or most importantly Brair, so I've not read it yet. Anyways, this book starts after the four have been apart for years upon years and have grown apart. They've cut themselves off from one another and then travel into hostile territory. Throughout the book, they finally manage to open themselves up to one another though, so it ends well. Well, for some of them. And I was right about Brair. That is proven in this book. And while it is perfectly understandable, it kind of annoys me. But I KNOW THERE IS A REASON, so I know it shouldn't annoy me. Not everyone can be as I WANT THEM.)

Faking It. (And ADULT BOOK. And by that I mean, it's aimed at Adult like people who want a romantic, introspective book to look at. Or read. It was pretty good...I was slightly frustrated after making one care so much about the two main character they never "got together." Oops, spoiler.)

Getting Caught. (This was okay. I liked that it was mostly about two former friends, who due to lack of communication started pranking one another. And hated one another for basically teh same reason, even though neither had done what the other hated the other for. Typical teenager. Cute. Not the best Mandy Hubbard, but she did write it with another person. So far, RIPPLE is the BEST Mandy Hubbard book. It was even better than But I Love Him.)

Beautiful Disaster. (I had low hopes for this book, after skimming the reviews. I was mostly interested it because it was about COLLEGE people. College Freshman. I haven't seen many books about college aged people, so I leaped. It was kind of long and it was kind of...stupid. But it was like crack. Or a soap opera. Like Passions. I miss Passions sometimes. It was like a train wreck and you just could not stop looking. That was this dumb book. It was like horrible accident that you just had to keep reading about. It was horrible. The relationship was...horrible. And then...the ending sucked. It was like Twilight all over again. Only with...sex.)

The Ghost and the Goth. (OMG. I read this twice in two days. It is...fluffy. But SO DAMN GOOD. I saw this in the bookstore when I went to get R her present for her July Birthday, which is still sitting on my dinning room table for no good reason other than....I am the laziest person known to man. Anyways, I saw it in the book store and I knew I was a gonner for two reasons: the uber popular girl and the outsider. I'm a total sucker for these things. I'm sorry. I knew it. Then add in teh ghost aspect and I was like, SQUEEEEEE. And it lived up to all my expections. Only, the publisher failed, as it's not on Kindle yet for Book 2. BAH. It's the last book in the Immortals series all over again.)

Between the Lines. (Yet another book after reading the first two lines of the description I bought without reading any more, as it was about...Hollywood. Acting. Movies. Add in a wee bit of Romance. I love these topics as well. My all time favorite books as a kid always dealt with actresses and TV or movies. So, I got this right away and read it twice in two days. I love that it's told from two perspectives, the guy and girl. I also like how it ends, which I always surprising. Endings are the worst for me. I can't write them, I hate reading them. Then, I found out there's another book in the series and I was dancing around the room.)

Epic Fail. (Another I got when I saw Hollywood in the description. The book was kind of an epic fail though...it was a retelling of Pride and Prejudice from what I could tell. Which must be some book, as several of the books I've read over the past year are basically re-tellings of that story. Elizabeth Bennett is a big deal and I have no clue why. Why? Because I've read four pages of PP and thought my mind was going to explode. I only know what it's about because I watched Lost in Austen after Claire told me to. But, while the other stories I didn't SEE the story line playing out for me, I did in this story. Even the character's names were close to the original names used. It distracted me throughout. Also, while I loved how we FINALLY got to know the main dude near the end, I was rather unhappy it just ENDED rather randomly.)

Anna and the French Kiss. (This has popped up in the recommends since I got my Kindle. Whose name is Kendi. I don't know if I told you that. Anyways, I've always looked at it, heard wonderful things about it, but something prevented me from hitting the BUY button. I have no clue what, but it did. Finally, though, yesterday, I hit the buy button. And the book ate me alive. I am serious. It ate me alive. It has EVERYTHING going for it. A great main character voice, a wonderful boy to fall in love with, and great supporting character and....Paris. I'm not a HUGE Paris fan. I've never had this undying NEED to go to Paris. Or learn French. Or know anything about French. Except the French Revolution because it MAKES LITTLE SENSE to me. Like Communism. Or Economics. Things that make no sense to me, I always want to know more about. In a sense, I want things to fit into neat little boxes. But, that's not the point. Paris is not London. Paris is not Glasgow. Paris is not British in other words. So, I don't care about it. In the title, on the cover, you can tell Paris/French/France will play a role. It does. It is an important role. But, I wish that hadn't prevented me from buying the book. Because...this book is AWESOME. I can't even put it into words. I think I might be able to read this book a million times. Like Harry Potter. Or Summer Story (which I wrote, and I've read a total of five times. And I still love it.))

Falling in Love With English  Boys. (Duh, I got this book after seeing the title. It was kind of hard to get into, mostly because it is written as a blog written by a 16 year old in today's world, using today's slang, today's spelling and she write as I do. How she speaks. So thing are spelled wrong. I think if I read it out loud, it'd make more sense, but this was still pretty good. It was woven in with a diary of an 18 year old in 1815. Who knows a NICK. WHO ACTS LIKE A NICK. After this point...I kind of liked it more, so I read it too fast and missed a lot. I will read it again....after I read Anna and the French Kiss again. After I kill my barking dog. (Just kidding. I'm just going to wrap her up in a blanket and tell her she's not allowed to bark at the neighbor. She will look pathedic, I will go, "awwwww" and kiss her and hug her and she will cuddle up next to me and we'll forget she just scared the living shit out of me and more than likely who ever she was barking at out the front window.) Anyways, I love two viewpoints, and multiple story lines that weave together in the end, so duh, I liked this book. Plus LONDON. Tragically, it never out right told us who the 1815 chick ended up with, though it did tell us who she did not. Which was good, because I could sit there and be a dork.)

And that's it. Unless I add in there the stories I've written that I've read. (Mostly Summer Story. It's the only "complete" one. The others all need re-writes. Like RAB. RAB needs help I've decided. I have never been bored reading it till the last time I looked at it. I still loved the characters, but god, I was like, WFT was I thinking?)

Do people really say, in every day conversations, "BRB." Like say the freaking letters instead of "Be right back?" I had a friend in high school who said, "TTYL" And I always blinked at her. As my head doesn't work fast enough to figure it out. I've just noticed in the last few YA books, that in the actual conversations people have they are speaking in texting lingo. LOL, BRB. GTG. I am like, HUH? I AM OLD.

Oh, so I mowed the lawn. And I ignored the neighbors and people outside. Enjoying the fall day with my broken earphones, which one was stuffed into my shirt thumping and making horrible noises. Pilot Boy ran off with all earphones or lost them. We had three sets of BRAND NEW APPLE earphone, THREE sets of fancy ones and now the only ones I have find are the broken OLD APPLE EARPHONES that came with MY FIRST iSHUFFLE. SERIOUSLY?

I'm going to go die now. Or watch Doctor Who.

After all this why...

Ten years ago, on 11 September, I was seated in the cafeteria. I had no homework to speak of because I was a senior and just seemed to lack homework in general. So, I was writing in my "journal." (It is in quotes, because I had two journals in high school. A public one and a private one.) Here is what was going through my head the moment I hear the news:

September 11, 2001: I've come to the conclusion I will always have an odd ball obsession with That Guy. You see, most of my childhood crushes, they went away and the person left too. That Guy never left. He's always lurking around in the background, always there. And when he wasn't for a semester what happened? B. And now he's almost nowhere and on my mind 24/7. When I'm not pondering B, I'm pondering That Guy. I swear it is the last name. Generally when I'm thinking or talking about That Guy, it's always That Guy Insert Last Name, though after five years of him I still can't spell it. And now he's remotely cute and people like BF think so, I am just so grrred. And it wouldn't be so bad if I didn't have B in my ear whispering, "i love you babe." Then I feel guilty for thinking about That Guy and those dreams... B either scares me or makes me melt by how much he loves me. At times I feel like a sap b/c I feel like a "7th Heaven" character. Then I wonder will I really marry him? Okay, they just made some announcement that I did not hear, but I bargain someone or people died. I did catch "mom of silence," "world trade center," and "airplane." But, I guess I'll hear later. 


Anyways, back to B. I really don't know what to do with him. At times I love him, miss him, want him near, but then That Guy, who I have next to no chance with, floats into my head. I will never comprehend what that was all about. And then I'm not sure. And then there's this car thing. What is that all about? So what, BF can drive if you can. It's just a car, not a baby. Grrrr....it's hard to juggle people. You know, I'm a bad person. How can I love someone I can hardly ever say anything nice about? I'm one screwed up girl. You know what, I'll probably get an ulcer and it won't be from any pain pills or drugs.


"I need to get away and find something to do. Cause everything I do reminds me of you." -Goldfinger, "Counting the Days"


Later: Okay, big day in history. The two World Trade Towers collapsed after two airplanes flew into them. The Pentagon had a plane fly into it and another hijacked plane crashed in PA. My dad's stuck in San Antonio, thank god he wasn't flying. Third hour we watched CNN. It was surreal watching both towers crumble to the ground. Just thinking I was there and now it's gone. It was just odd. I don't think Dad was coming home today. Plus, all the planes that were hijacked were transcontinental, ie NY to LA. So, I'm figuring that he's just stuck in San Antonio. There's talk of war and such. I'm finding this all hard to believe. It's like straight out of a movie. That's what all the news footage I've seen has looked like. Like the second plane flying straight into Tower Two while the first ones burning. Then the two falling to the ground live on TV. I don't know. I just want to go home and see the news. I need pictures. Well, and I gotta call B. Oh god. I have to deal with this on the retreat. It's like (almost) Columbine. Well, large scale. To put it mildly I'm grrified. It's just surreal. I've never lived through something t his big. I mean, it was announced during school. They didn't announce Columbine. This will be in the history books. My kids might ask me where I was when I heard. I was sitting in my 2nd hour study hall pinning over That Guy and B, wondering what I was going to do. At least my dad wasn't flying. Stupid SBC. If they just followed their stupid travel ban maybe....grrr.....grr....grr. I'm just glad he wasn't in NY or DC. Thank God.

Well, there you have it. That is what Ireland Scott was doing ten years ago. And my reaction to when I actually heard what happened. You see, at the time, there were no speakers in the lunchroom, thus none of us who were in there heard what the hell was announced. We all just looked at one another in a confused manner and the two teachers in with us, kind of shrugged. When the bell rang, we were the ONLY people talking. The whole school was utterly silent. And none of us who were in 2nd hour study hall had a clue what was going on, as no one was speaking. Everyone was just walking around in silence. I went to my locker and then got my stuff. I walked to my 3rd hour class: US Government. I was beginning to get a bit freaked out, as NO ONE WAS TALKING. My teacher, Mr. E, was standing in all his Nordic glory, but he had the gravest, freakiest face on in the world. (he kind of looked like Erik from True Blood, now that I think about it, when he's being all freaky serious). Usually, Mr. E smiled and greeted me as I entered, but on that day, he just stared at me. I was like, "What the hell is going on here?"

The TV was on, and turned onto CNN or something. I don't honestly remember which channel Mr. E chose to watch. I just remember sitting down and staring at the TV wondering what movie he was watching. Then, I realized, it wasn't a movie: IT WAS REAL.

It never sunk in what I was looking at. I just sat there the whole hour, watching the live footage, watching the other footage of when the first plane hit. I watched the first tower and second tower crumble that hour.

Then I went to lunch. I think I wrote that second half of my journal entry at lunch. Or not, as I think I sat with someone that semester for lunch. It was just so surreal going through the day. All I wanted to do was watch the news, even though I knew after the second tower fell, there wasn't much else we could watch. I spent the rest of the day shocked we were still going through the day. Only one teacher actually held class that day. Our physics teacher went on as nothing was going on.

My mother also picked me up because my father (who was indeed in SA and was supposed to fly home the next day) was fearful what the nutjobs in our town would do to the Islamic Center that was behind our high school. The cops had the same fears as they were out in full force when I got out of school. They were there for several days after as well.

The other clear memory was when I heard the first plane after September 11th. I was walking home from school and totally freaked out because I had no clue what the noise was. You'd think growing up under a landing pattern for O'Hare, I'd know what a plane sounded like.

I've asked Pilot Boy several times his memories on September 11th, but he can't tell me much of anything. Which is normal for Pilot Boy. He doesn't remember much of anything that isn't about flying an airplane. He doesn't remember half the things I remember clearly....like the first time I drove down to Purdue for 24 hours just to see him, when I first showed up to LEAD...and sometimes he doesn't remember clearly the events of the day he asked me to marry him.  At least he remembers me...

you can't go on, you can't even talk

I always knew it was time to go back to school (or the school year was upon me) due to certain types of dreams I'd have. They'd always feature a few certain characters and always seemed to leave me in a slight panic.

For the first time in years, I had one last night.

I am serious. It was the strangest thing, as I have not had one in years. Well, since I left school behind me. Recenctly, something needed to trigger for certain people to appear. *coughs*

But, I had a school dream. In school, though it didn't exactly look like any school I've attended. It was like an odd combination of my high school and middle school. And I was "new" but not at the same time. The story line for the dream went as follows: I went to the school for two years, then transfered to Belleville East and then took a semester off. I appeared again and was behind lost. I did the wrong vocabulary exercise in the workbook while a girl I never had English with but was my friend ignored me and refused to help me. Meanwhile, the other guy sat across the room mocking me because I failed to do the work right. No one would help me. Then, during passing peroid, I could not find my locker. Then someone was nice enough to tell me since my last apperance at school, they had added a fourth floor. The fourth floor had green and white floors and looked a lot like Del Rio Middle School. Except with lots of windows, which Del Rio Middle School does not have. I explained my circumstancs to the teacher, who did not care. (They never do in dreams.)

I woke up in a panic.

Then I was confused, as I didn't have to go to school. I seriously wanted to go to school. I still feel like I ought to go to school.