I like to iron. I have since I was a teenager and my mother handed me a stack of linen napkins after a major holiday and said, "IRON THESE AND GET OUT OF MY HAIR!"
OMG. I had so much fun!
When I was in 8th grade till my sophomore year, I ironed ALL MY CLOTHING. I am serious. The iron lived in my room. I ironed on the floor. I ironed shirts, tank tops, pants, skirts, and jeans. (Yes, I ironed my jeans....) This avid ironing lasted till I was 16. I was bad, sometimes I'd iron shirts and pants while I was wearing them. During the time I was 16, the mid-drift top was all the rage. All my tank tops were belly baring tops because that was the only length made. I had this white one, I remember it well. I hated wearing these tops, because at 16 I thought I was horridly fat down there. (Har har har.) Well, one spring morning, I was like, "I'm wearing my Gap outfit!" This outfit consisted of khaki pants, basic white tank top and a denim dress shirt that was short sleeved. After I was dressed and on my way out the door I noticed a huge wrinkle across the bottom of the tank top. I plugged the iron in, ironed out the wrinkled and left.
I barely noticed the fact my stomach hurt. It wasn't until gym 2nd hour did I realize what had happened. I was changing out of my gym suit and my friend Hilary asked, "What the hell is on your stomach?"
I looked down. There was a definite iron mark on my tummy. There were even holes. You could not mistake it for anything except an iron mark.
I had a scar there for years shaped like the edge of the iron.
After this, I stopped my relentless ironing of clothing. I don't remember why, other than I didn't have the time to do it...I also realized if you fold your clothes and put them away they don't get as wrinkled. And jeans...well, they unwrinkled themselves.
I did not have another disastrous run in with the iron until I began sewing when we lived in the Dirt Hole. Usually it was just small burns here and there on my hands. Then they started showing up on my arms. I have several light brown scars on my arms from where I whacked the iron with my bare arm. However, today, I did something really, really stupid.
I burned my whole left hand.
While holding a purse over the hand.
I don't know what the #@%^$ I was thinking. I guess it was like the days I'd iron my clothes while wearing them. But I held the purse on my hand, held up the iron, set the iron on it and steam came flying out of it and I yelped.
I burned my whole hand.
I ran to the bathroom, swearing up a storm and ran my hand under ice cold water till it was numb. Because it was my left hand, I was like MY RING WILL GET SWOLLEN ON MY FINGER! So, I spent ten minutes trying to pry it off. (It is all ready a bit too small. My finger is dis-formed from where its sat on my finger for the past two years unmoved....)
After I accomplished this task, I hurried downstairs and made myself an ice pack and have had it on and off my hand for the past.....six hours. My hand is still red, and some areas are beginning to swell, now that I've taken the cold pack off for the past 20 minutes or so to type this up. I figured since I have to drive somewhere tonight, I ought to get some use of my left hand before I leave. But this is pretty bad, you guys. My whole hand is still burning in pain. And my ring finger looks horrible. I'll have to wait till my hand heals to get my ring re-sized...but now that it's off, I know it needs to be re-sized.
In other news, I didn't get anything done because of my stellar relationship with irons.
I didn't even tell you about curling irons and me....we have an even more checkered past. And I mean checkered. My neck usually.
21 July 2011
19 July 2011
Smelling Things
I have a bad habit of smelling things and getting the items I smelled stuck up my nose. Often this happens with shampoo and conditioners. Or soaps. (Yes, I am that crazy lady who stands in the aisle and sniffs all the soaps before putting one in her cart.)
I have discovered, like music, certain scents remind me of places. Usually rather specific. For intance:
1. Dial White Gardenia liquid soap reminds me of the Dirt Hole, mostly the main bathroom. I used many kinds of soap whilst living in the Dirt Hole, but for some odd reason, this Dial soap reminds me STRONGLY of the bathroom at our house in Dirt Hole, from the plaid curtain to the gorgeous teal paint I painted on the crappy walls. I can still picture the old 1950s wood cabinet, the ugly handles and the stupid sink that never came clean due to the lime deposits that clung to the metal like it was going to go out of style at any moment. Also, the bathroom had two mirrors. A huge one over the sink and then a smaller one over the medicine cabinet. It was strange, but there were a lot of oddities in the house.
2. John Freida Brilliant Brunette Shampoo and Conditioner reminds me of the tiny stall shower on the third floor of Maclay Hall. (Number 18, Maclay Hall.) I was blonde when I arrived in Glasgow, but keeping it up while I was there was too much for me to handle, so I bought a box of 5 pound hair color in dark brown and some Brilliant Brunette so I didn't turn red. The smell of this stuff reminds me so much of standing in that tiny shower stall trying not to bang my head on the shower head. I also love the way it smells....but I don't seem to buy it often for some reason.
3. Old school Herbal Essence shampoo....reminds me of old school things. It was rather disturbing when I met Pilot Boy, as he used Herbal Essences. It freaked me out to no end. Luckily they stopped making it and he moved on to other things....though, now he head doesn't smell like much. The manly shampoos he uses now never linger like Herbal Essences used to. It doesn't linger very well any more either, as once the new line came out, I was standing in the aisles sucking up shampoo up my nose again. They all smell the same to me to begin with, and when I do use them, they don't linger like the old stuff used to. You could smell like Herbal Essenses for days. Now...not so much.
4. Aveda. I love how Aveda salons smell. It calms me down to no end. I had no clue what the smell was till I was in college, blond and needed a touch up. I associate the scent with wonderful, relaxing things. Also good haircuts. It also was a scent that someone I knew in college somehow managed to get their room to smell like. I also love how Aveda scents linger in your hair. Sometimes I spray myself with hair spray just so I'll smell it and relax the hell out. (I get stressed easily.)
That is all I can think of at the moment. Now you can go back to your regularly scheduled life.
I have discovered, like music, certain scents remind me of places. Usually rather specific. For intance:
1. Dial White Gardenia liquid soap reminds me of the Dirt Hole, mostly the main bathroom. I used many kinds of soap whilst living in the Dirt Hole, but for some odd reason, this Dial soap reminds me STRONGLY of the bathroom at our house in Dirt Hole, from the plaid curtain to the gorgeous teal paint I painted on the crappy walls. I can still picture the old 1950s wood cabinet, the ugly handles and the stupid sink that never came clean due to the lime deposits that clung to the metal like it was going to go out of style at any moment. Also, the bathroom had two mirrors. A huge one over the sink and then a smaller one over the medicine cabinet. It was strange, but there were a lot of oddities in the house.
2. John Freida Brilliant Brunette Shampoo and Conditioner reminds me of the tiny stall shower on the third floor of Maclay Hall. (Number 18, Maclay Hall.) I was blonde when I arrived in Glasgow, but keeping it up while I was there was too much for me to handle, so I bought a box of 5 pound hair color in dark brown and some Brilliant Brunette so I didn't turn red. The smell of this stuff reminds me so much of standing in that tiny shower stall trying not to bang my head on the shower head. I also love the way it smells....but I don't seem to buy it often for some reason.
3. Old school Herbal Essence shampoo....reminds me of old school things. It was rather disturbing when I met Pilot Boy, as he used Herbal Essences. It freaked me out to no end. Luckily they stopped making it and he moved on to other things....though, now he head doesn't smell like much. The manly shampoos he uses now never linger like Herbal Essences used to. It doesn't linger very well any more either, as once the new line came out, I was standing in the aisles sucking up shampoo up my nose again. They all smell the same to me to begin with, and when I do use them, they don't linger like the old stuff used to. You could smell like Herbal Essenses for days. Now...not so much.
4. Aveda. I love how Aveda salons smell. It calms me down to no end. I had no clue what the smell was till I was in college, blond and needed a touch up. I associate the scent with wonderful, relaxing things. Also good haircuts. It also was a scent that someone I knew in college somehow managed to get their room to smell like. I also love how Aveda scents linger in your hair. Sometimes I spray myself with hair spray just so I'll smell it and relax the hell out. (I get stressed easily.)
That is all I can think of at the moment. Now you can go back to your regularly scheduled life.
04 July 2011
Fishing With Ireland 3 dot 0
The past two weeks I've been rather silent due to the fact the family was in town. All three of them. (HA HA HA.) They flew up and then whisked us around Southern Alaska. One of the stops was Homer.
And in Homer, Pilot Boy wanted to go halibut fishing.
Ireland 1.0 doesn't fish. Ireland 1.0 does not do the following:
*fish
*eat tomatoes
*hike uphill
*eat potatoes
*like dogs
*mow lawns
*ride a bike
*garden
Ireland 2.0 does the following that 1.0 does not:
*hike up slight hills, while complaining heavily
*eat potatoes
Ireland 2.4 eat tomatoes.
Ireland 2.9 likes dogs and owns one. She will also ride a bike for less than 4 miles.
Ireland 3.0, The Alaska Version does the following that the previous version did not:
*hike uphill. Will complain.
*mow the lawn in a whirly pattern
*fishes
*gardens in a limited manner
Ireland 3.0 fishes only because she felt sorry for Pilot Boy, as no one else seemed too keen on the idea of fishing. His thought process was the following: Why would you go to the halibut fishing capital of the world and NOT FISH?
His head simply did not wrap around why no one wanted to fish.
So, since I felt sorry for him, I announced I would go. (This gets me into a lot of trouble, hence why Ireland 2.0 tended to hike up hills she did not want to hike up. And why 3.0 still keeps going on hikes, even though she still does not really enjoy hiking Pilot Boy style. He's got one setting: Fast. That is why he and Turbo Puppy get along so well.)
So, on Tuesday morning, we woke up, lounged around staring at some mountains, then donned raincoats and had my parents drive us down to the Homer Spit. In our matching raincoats, we got me a fishing license and were told we might be put on another fishing charter because Bob didn't have enough people to take the boat out. So, after being driven to the docks, instead of going to C-17, we went to C-1. (Which wasn't as amusing as Pilot Boy flies C-17s for a living...)
We were the first people there. And we were wearing matching red raincoats and the sun was out. (It was only raining where we were staying, not in Homer itself. That's Alaska weather for ya.) For a long, long, long time we were the only people there. Finally, they got confirmation that the others had arrived and they let Pilot Boy and myself on the boat. After a round of introductions to the crew (Captain, Max (who from Arizona) and Josh (who was from Georgia, and not Atlanta, as he sounded southern)), we waited for the others to show up.
The others included a group of old guys who were from Washington who had spent the past three days fishing for halibut. Seriously, they had gone out with the crew we were with the day before and had so much fun, they signed up for another half day trip. They were all...crazy. They were also going to some salmon fishing cap after this whole halibut fishing thing. Least to say, they'd be eating fish for a few years....
There was a family from Boston, who did not sound like they were from Boston, so no one believed they were from Boston. They were doing The Alaska Tour. By this I mean they were attempting to do everything Alaska had to offer. They'd been to Denali and seen it from a plane. They were now in Homer going halibut fishing. They also had gone hiking at some point. Also, as we road an hour to the fishing spot, the mother realized they'd have a lot of halibut waiting for them when they were back in Boston. "What are we going to do with all that fish?" she asked. I wondered the same thing, as they had four people in their group. Halibut are kinda big. Even the small ones.
There was an older couple from Southern Illinois (not Chicago) who had been to Alaska before, but had failed to halibut fish on their previous trip. They were nice.
The last group contained a woman who had lost her fishing license, so she couldn't fish. She seemed rather cranky about this, as I would have been too. I kind of wished I was her by the end of the trip though....
So, there you have it.
It was an hour ride to the fishing spot, which I spent sitting in the cabin next to the old guy named Scott, the mother of the Boston clan while the other Bostons stood around us. They all talked. I listened. Pilot Boy tried on numerous occasions to get me to go out on the deck, but I refused. I liked where I was. I learned a lot about the Old Guy named Scott, marriage, and the Boston Clan. They liked outdoor things. One of the sons did that crazy thing where you dive into freezing cold water in the middle of winter. The other did scuba diving or something.
Anyways, we reached the spot. That was when...the...fun...began....I'm not sure if I'd label it as real fun...I mean, I enjoyed it, but not the actual fishing part. I could have done without the fishing part. Why?
Ireland 3.0 might fish, but she's not any good at it. I lost my bait a total of five times. I was just FEEDING the halibut. Josh liked to tell people my "secret" but he seemed determined I'd actually catch a fish. I wasn't sure why. I sure as hell did not care if I actually caught one. It looked hard. I had enough trouble casting the damn fishing pole and then pounding it on the bottom of the ocean. Yeah, halibut live on the bottom of the ocean, so you cast the stupid thing down some 200 feet, with a three pound weight plus the stupid bait. I was not surprised in the least I seemed to fail at life when fishing. This seemed to surprise Josh, as he couldn't figure out what the hell I was doing to keep loosing my bait.
"We're going to have to charge you for bait," he joked more than once as I spent hours upon hours wheeling my stupid line in to get new bait. The crew all seemed to easily be able to tell when I'd fed the halibut. I had no clue. I didn't even know when I had a bite. That is how brilliant Ireland 3.0 is at fishing.
I also had a great talent for getting my line tangled with others and not knowing it. A few times I thought I had a bite, but in reality i was just tangled up with someone down the line. I spent a great deal of time chasing after Josh around the boat as he untangled my line. He also kept moving me around in order to aid me in catching more fish. It did not seem to matter where I stood.
Eventually, though, Josh informed me I had a bite and I had to reel him in.
Reeling in an actual fish is harder than simply reeling up the stupid 3 lb weight. Plus, being a girl, I have little upper body strength because I do not lift weights on a regular basis. All the poles were the same size and weight and I found it very awkward. Also, there seemed to be this yellow gunk all over the reel pulley thing. So, I ended up covered in this unknown yellow substance. I ended up jamming the pole into my upper thigh in order to stabilize it to the point where I could turn the wheel thing a few times before loosing my grip on the pole and having to rest it on the railing and starting over. It took forever to reel the dumb fish in. Josh came over as I was nearing the surface (so I didn't have to scream COLOR out, which was what we were supposed to do once it got near the surface so Max or Josh could get it out and do step 3 in fishing.)
He cursed when he saw what I had dragged to the surface.
I looked down and it simply looked like I had a huge fish of some sort, but not the flat, ugly halibut I was supposed to be catching. I had dragged a huge, dumb cod to the surface. And I had managed to hook it through the upper and lower lip. Josh wrestled with the cod and the hook for awhile, blood flowing all over the deck. Oddly, I was fascinated by this. (Ireland 3.0 is strange, I know.) Josh assured me the cod would be all right (I think since I was a girl, he assumed I was squeamish about blood and hoped for a nice, full life for the dumb ass cod. I kind of wanted to bash it in the head, as it was HEAVY and I had DRAGGED IT UP only to have to TOSS IT BACK.) A minute later, Pilot Boy hooked a cod so well, it had to be moved to the table to have major hook removal. Josh threw it back and assured me once again, the cod would be all right. Only this time, instead of swimming off, the cod simply floated a moment before it sunk.
I'm pretty sure it was dead. Good and dead.
After loosing a few more pieces of bait and hooking another cod, Josh took the reel over and did something for a while before he announced, "Another bite. Begin to reel." He handed me back the pole and I almost dropped it as there was a big tug. I began to reel it in. I was going to beat the cod if it was indeed another dumb cod. By this point, almost everyone all ready had their two fish. Pilot Boy had one fish. I was literally the only person who had yet to catch anything worth while.
I hated reeling in. Even if nothing was on the line, it sucked. And it was hard. And I don't like hard things. I know for a fact I looked like a pathetic excuse for a fisherman while attempting to reel in the dumb fish. Josh helped me a few times and then cursed again when he saw what I had hooked (or he had hooked, but who really cares? I might have hooked it for all I know.) I sighed deeply and finished reeling in the dumb cod, though as it got closer to the surface, I didn't think it was the cod Josh originally thought it was.
Josh returned a few moments later while I stood dumbly looking at the fish a few inches below the surface of the water (I refused to bring it to the deck without someone who knew anything near by).
"Hey, Chicago! I think you got one!" Old Guy Scott announced. He was standing near me, trying to catch a bigger halibut for his second fish.
"I think you did, Ireland," Josh said, picking up the line and bringing the flopping, ugly brute to the deck. He handed me the weight and took the fish off the hook. He then walked off with it and I simply stood there dumbly waiting for more bait. I secretly hoped that in all the excitement (someone else caught something) they'd forget about me and I'd be able to sneak away. But Josh returned a few minutes later and gave me more bait. Sighing deeply, I watched him cast it and then hand it to me to let it hit the bottom. It hit with a thunk and I bounced it a few times.
After loosing the bait and catching another cod, it was nearing the time we had to leave to go back to Homer. There were only three people still fishing at this point. Me, Boston Pop and the Old Guy I never got a name for. Oh, and I guess Pilot Boy, so there was four. Oops. So, we were still fishing. Josh came over to check on me (as I am lame still, and I think he figured out I'd never know if something bit me or not). He informed me I had a bite, and begin to reel it in. He showed me how to reel easily, and it wasn't any easier. I was pretty sure I had lost whatever was on my hook, so I wasn't really in a hurry to get it up. Nothing was tugging any more. So i was minding my own business, trying to reel up slowly, so by the time I had done it it'd be time to go home.
This did not work.
Josh came over again, informed me there was still something there, and went to get the banana.
I did not like the banana belt. He stuck it around my waist and told me to put the pull in it. This belt is supposed to make it easier to reel things in. It does not. It was actually highly annoying and I would have rather simply dug the pole further into my thigh. And killed my left arm further.
I was still pretty sure there wasn't anything on the end of the line, but oddly, when I saw the weight again, there was something that looked freakishly like a halibut on the other end of the hook.
"YOU DID IT!" Josh shouted at me, pulling the stupid fish up to the surface. I stared at it as it flopped on the deck.
"Good job, Chicago! I knew you had it in you!" Old Guy Scott told me.
I smiled (which was what I had been doing all afternoon instead of actually speaking) and removed the dumb belt, handed my pole to Max and quickly exited. I sat down next to Pilot Boy, who had caught his last fish a few moments before I had. Now Boston Pop was left, as well as the Old Guy Whose Name I Failed to Learn. He had two poles going, somehow.
After the last two guys had gotten their last fish, the engines began and the fun began.
I know, the whole fishing part as supposed to be the "fun" part, but honestly, it was not the highlight for me. I was not all that excited when I caught the fish, I was more relieved. It was like, I had this goal of two fish and once I reached it I was relieved to just sit down. Halibut fishing is hard. Totally.
The fun began after the boat started. Josh and Max began their post fishing dance. They cleaned the deck, went through the crate of fish trying to find the biggest fish and then hung them up to photograph them.
This is when I got fish guts all over my jeans. I had managed to stay pretty clean throughout the whole fishing thing, save the unknown yellow junk. However, within minutes of the engine starting, I had red fish guts on me. And it was kind of gross and fascinating at the same time.
After I got fish on me, Josh and Max continued their dance, which concluded with the tossing of fish carcasses. Josh flayed the fish in a very fast and precise way and then tossed the remains off the boat for the gulls to feast upon. There was a lot of blood and fish bits on the deck, so at the end of the dance, they both washed the deck down in water. Least to say, I was glad I had my hiking boots on, as they are the only water proof shoes I had with me.
After we reached the spit, we split for home. After dinner, I took a very long shower and Pilot Boy drove four hours back to our house, as he had to go to work the next day.
The next day...oi. I had no use of my left arm the next day. My left arm was the arm I used to pull the pole back and forth while my right hand operated the reel. My wrists hurt the night before, by the next day, my left arm failed to operate. I walked around with it bent (I could not straighten it out) and looked like I had a broken arm. As the day wore on, I noticed the spot where I had steadied the pole on my leg was turning a nice shade of green and purple. I seriously looked like I had taken a good pounding on my upper thigh. It felt like I had taken a beating as well, as every move I made, ached. I have no clue how the Old Guys managed to do this three days in a row. I'm 27 freaking years old, and I could hardly move the next day. And I hadn't been drinking beer for three hours either, like they had.
I went fishing a week ago. My leg still looks like a war zone. But, I can move my left arm again. It took two days, but I can move it again. And use it.
I bet the big question on your mind is....Would I do it again?
Yeah. I would. Even if I had a pain of a time fishing. I'd do it again. It was...fun.
Ireland 3.0 has fun.
And in Homer, Pilot Boy wanted to go halibut fishing.
Ireland 1.0 doesn't fish. Ireland 1.0 does not do the following:
*fish
*eat tomatoes
*hike uphill
*eat potatoes
*like dogs
*mow lawns
*ride a bike
*garden
Ireland 2.0 does the following that 1.0 does not:
*hike up slight hills, while complaining heavily
*eat potatoes
Ireland 2.4 eat tomatoes.
Ireland 2.9 likes dogs and owns one. She will also ride a bike for less than 4 miles.
Ireland 3.0, The Alaska Version does the following that the previous version did not:
*hike uphill. Will complain.
*mow the lawn in a whirly pattern
*fishes
*gardens in a limited manner
Ireland 3.0 fishes only because she felt sorry for Pilot Boy, as no one else seemed too keen on the idea of fishing. His thought process was the following: Why would you go to the halibut fishing capital of the world and NOT FISH?
His head simply did not wrap around why no one wanted to fish.
So, since I felt sorry for him, I announced I would go. (This gets me into a lot of trouble, hence why Ireland 2.0 tended to hike up hills she did not want to hike up. And why 3.0 still keeps going on hikes, even though she still does not really enjoy hiking Pilot Boy style. He's got one setting: Fast. That is why he and Turbo Puppy get along so well.)
 |
| View out the window in Homer |
We were the first people there. And we were wearing matching red raincoats and the sun was out. (It was only raining where we were staying, not in Homer itself. That's Alaska weather for ya.) For a long, long, long time we were the only people there. Finally, they got confirmation that the others had arrived and they let Pilot Boy and myself on the boat. After a round of introductions to the crew (Captain, Max (who from Arizona) and Josh (who was from Georgia, and not Atlanta, as he sounded southern)), we waited for the others to show up.
The others included a group of old guys who were from Washington who had spent the past three days fishing for halibut. Seriously, they had gone out with the crew we were with the day before and had so much fun, they signed up for another half day trip. They were all...crazy. They were also going to some salmon fishing cap after this whole halibut fishing thing. Least to say, they'd be eating fish for a few years....
There was a family from Boston, who did not sound like they were from Boston, so no one believed they were from Boston. They were doing The Alaska Tour. By this I mean they were attempting to do everything Alaska had to offer. They'd been to Denali and seen it from a plane. They were now in Homer going halibut fishing. They also had gone hiking at some point. Also, as we road an hour to the fishing spot, the mother realized they'd have a lot of halibut waiting for them when they were back in Boston. "What are we going to do with all that fish?" she asked. I wondered the same thing, as they had four people in their group. Halibut are kinda big. Even the small ones.
There was an older couple from Southern Illinois (not Chicago) who had been to Alaska before, but had failed to halibut fish on their previous trip. They were nice.
The last group contained a woman who had lost her fishing license, so she couldn't fish. She seemed rather cranky about this, as I would have been too. I kind of wished I was her by the end of the trip though....
 |
| The view from the boat |
It was an hour ride to the fishing spot, which I spent sitting in the cabin next to the old guy named Scott, the mother of the Boston clan while the other Bostons stood around us. They all talked. I listened. Pilot Boy tried on numerous occasions to get me to go out on the deck, but I refused. I liked where I was. I learned a lot about the Old Guy named Scott, marriage, and the Boston Clan. They liked outdoor things. One of the sons did that crazy thing where you dive into freezing cold water in the middle of winter. The other did scuba diving or something.
Anyways, we reached the spot. That was when...the...fun...began....I'm not sure if I'd label it as real fun...I mean, I enjoyed it, but not the actual fishing part. I could have done without the fishing part. Why?
 |
| I'm on a Boat |
"We're going to have to charge you for bait," he joked more than once as I spent hours upon hours wheeling my stupid line in to get new bait. The crew all seemed to easily be able to tell when I'd fed the halibut. I had no clue. I didn't even know when I had a bite. That is how brilliant Ireland 3.0 is at fishing.
I also had a great talent for getting my line tangled with others and not knowing it. A few times I thought I had a bite, but in reality i was just tangled up with someone down the line. I spent a great deal of time chasing after Josh around the boat as he untangled my line. He also kept moving me around in order to aid me in catching more fish. It did not seem to matter where I stood.
Eventually, though, Josh informed me I had a bite and I had to reel him in.
Reeling in an actual fish is harder than simply reeling up the stupid 3 lb weight. Plus, being a girl, I have little upper body strength because I do not lift weights on a regular basis. All the poles were the same size and weight and I found it very awkward. Also, there seemed to be this yellow gunk all over the reel pulley thing. So, I ended up covered in this unknown yellow substance. I ended up jamming the pole into my upper thigh in order to stabilize it to the point where I could turn the wheel thing a few times before loosing my grip on the pole and having to rest it on the railing and starting over. It took forever to reel the dumb fish in. Josh came over as I was nearing the surface (so I didn't have to scream COLOR out, which was what we were supposed to do once it got near the surface so Max or Josh could get it out and do step 3 in fishing.)
He cursed when he saw what I had dragged to the surface.
I looked down and it simply looked like I had a huge fish of some sort, but not the flat, ugly halibut I was supposed to be catching. I had dragged a huge, dumb cod to the surface. And I had managed to hook it through the upper and lower lip. Josh wrestled with the cod and the hook for awhile, blood flowing all over the deck. Oddly, I was fascinated by this. (Ireland 3.0 is strange, I know.) Josh assured me the cod would be all right (I think since I was a girl, he assumed I was squeamish about blood and hoped for a nice, full life for the dumb ass cod. I kind of wanted to bash it in the head, as it was HEAVY and I had DRAGGED IT UP only to have to TOSS IT BACK.) A minute later, Pilot Boy hooked a cod so well, it had to be moved to the table to have major hook removal. Josh threw it back and assured me once again, the cod would be all right. Only this time, instead of swimming off, the cod simply floated a moment before it sunk.
I'm pretty sure it was dead. Good and dead.
After loosing a few more pieces of bait and hooking another cod, Josh took the reel over and did something for a while before he announced, "Another bite. Begin to reel." He handed me back the pole and I almost dropped it as there was a big tug. I began to reel it in. I was going to beat the cod if it was indeed another dumb cod. By this point, almost everyone all ready had their two fish. Pilot Boy had one fish. I was literally the only person who had yet to catch anything worth while.
I hated reeling in. Even if nothing was on the line, it sucked. And it was hard. And I don't like hard things. I know for a fact I looked like a pathetic excuse for a fisherman while attempting to reel in the dumb fish. Josh helped me a few times and then cursed again when he saw what I had hooked (or he had hooked, but who really cares? I might have hooked it for all I know.) I sighed deeply and finished reeling in the dumb cod, though as it got closer to the surface, I didn't think it was the cod Josh originally thought it was.
Josh returned a few moments later while I stood dumbly looking at the fish a few inches below the surface of the water (I refused to bring it to the deck without someone who knew anything near by).
"Hey, Chicago! I think you got one!" Old Guy Scott announced. He was standing near me, trying to catch a bigger halibut for his second fish.
 |
| The Big Fish |
After loosing the bait and catching another cod, it was nearing the time we had to leave to go back to Homer. There were only three people still fishing at this point. Me, Boston Pop and the Old Guy I never got a name for. Oh, and I guess Pilot Boy, so there was four. Oops. So, we were still fishing. Josh came over to check on me (as I am lame still, and I think he figured out I'd never know if something bit me or not). He informed me I had a bite, and begin to reel it in. He showed me how to reel easily, and it wasn't any easier. I was pretty sure I had lost whatever was on my hook, so I wasn't really in a hurry to get it up. Nothing was tugging any more. So i was minding my own business, trying to reel up slowly, so by the time I had done it it'd be time to go home.
This did not work.
Josh came over again, informed me there was still something there, and went to get the banana.
I did not like the banana belt. He stuck it around my waist and told me to put the pull in it. This belt is supposed to make it easier to reel things in. It does not. It was actually highly annoying and I would have rather simply dug the pole further into my thigh. And killed my left arm further.
I was still pretty sure there wasn't anything on the end of the line, but oddly, when I saw the weight again, there was something that looked freakishly like a halibut on the other end of the hook.
"YOU DID IT!" Josh shouted at me, pulling the stupid fish up to the surface. I stared at it as it flopped on the deck.
"Good job, Chicago! I knew you had it in you!" Old Guy Scott told me.
I smiled (which was what I had been doing all afternoon instead of actually speaking) and removed the dumb belt, handed my pole to Max and quickly exited. I sat down next to Pilot Boy, who had caught his last fish a few moments before I had. Now Boston Pop was left, as well as the Old Guy Whose Name I Failed to Learn. He had two poles going, somehow.
After the last two guys had gotten their last fish, the engines began and the fun began.
 |
| Fish Guts on My Leg |
The fun began after the boat started. Josh and Max began their post fishing dance. They cleaned the deck, went through the crate of fish trying to find the biggest fish and then hung them up to photograph them.
This is when I got fish guts all over my jeans. I had managed to stay pretty clean throughout the whole fishing thing, save the unknown yellow junk. However, within minutes of the engine starting, I had red fish guts on me. And it was kind of gross and fascinating at the same time.
After I got fish on me, Josh and Max continued their dance, which concluded with the tossing of fish carcasses. Josh flayed the fish in a very fast and precise way and then tossed the remains off the boat for the gulls to feast upon. There was a lot of blood and fish bits on the deck, so at the end of the dance, they both washed the deck down in water. Least to say, I was glad I had my hiking boots on, as they are the only water proof shoes I had with me.
 |
| Fish Go Flying to the Gulls |
The next day...oi. I had no use of my left arm the next day. My left arm was the arm I used to pull the pole back and forth while my right hand operated the reel. My wrists hurt the night before, by the next day, my left arm failed to operate. I walked around with it bent (I could not straighten it out) and looked like I had a broken arm. As the day wore on, I noticed the spot where I had steadied the pole on my leg was turning a nice shade of green and purple. I seriously looked like I had taken a good pounding on my upper thigh. It felt like I had taken a beating as well, as every move I made, ached. I have no clue how the Old Guys managed to do this three days in a row. I'm 27 freaking years old, and I could hardly move the next day. And I hadn't been drinking beer for three hours either, like they had.
I went fishing a week ago. My leg still looks like a war zone. But, I can move my left arm again. It took two days, but I can move it again. And use it.
I bet the big question on your mind is....Would I do it again?
Yeah. I would. Even if I had a pain of a time fishing. I'd do it again. It was...fun.
Ireland 3.0 has fun.
16 June 2011
Developments in Sizing
So....
When I was in high school, I wore a lot of stuff from Abercrombie. I had to wear the x-small because I was...well, extra small. Everywhere. I had no boobs. I had a tiny little waist. I was basically a walking skeleton that did not enjoy buying extra small shirts and 00 pants. Because I thought it made me unhealthy. (Which is true, my doctor kept telling me to put some weight on me, but it took a good ten years to sink in.)
Anyways, the last thing I got from Abercrombie was when I was 21 and I ordered a sweater. I had boobs by this point and had about two inches more to my waist and some hips.
I am currently sitting in my house wearing a LARGE sweatshirt from Abercrombie.
It does not fit like a large. I expected to be slightly swimming in this thing, if I am honest with you. Because while I would not put myself into an extra small these days, I'd think I'd at least maybe need a medium. I read the size chart before I ordered it too. My chest is not 37-39 inches. Okay? It's 34. What the hell do people who actually have that size chest do? Because this sweatshirt would be way too tight on them. According to the size chart on the website, I need a small.
I do not need a small. I NEED A FREAKING LARGE.
Now, this has occured to me before, where I follow the size charts online only to discover they are WAY OFF.
During my skeleton phase, American Eagle claimed I needed a size 6. Yeah. Guess what happened when skeleton Ireland put those suckers on? During my time in the dirt hole, I had many battles with Victoria Secret. The website claimed I was a size 8/10. I was like, SERIOUSLY? Everywhere else, I was a 4/6. So I ignored the website and ordered my usual size. For most items, the things fit. The shorts that were a size 6 were swimming on me. The shirts that were smalls, sometimes were too tight in the chest, sometimes were fine. If it was a tank top, it was fine. If it had sleeves, it almost always had to go back for a medium. In swimsuits (which were a whole different size chart all together) I was a large top and a medium bottom. (I KNOW LARGE TOP? ARE YOU SERIOUS?) I ended up with a medium top (which was kind of small, I guess I did need a large...) and a large bottom (which was too big, go figure?) Moral of the VS website: their swimsuit guide is correct. Trust nothing else.
I am very average, okay? I have probably the most average measurements known to man, okay? I do not understand why things are sized so wildly. I mean, I don't CARE what size I wear. I don't care I am wearing a large sweatshirt. The thing that annoys me is I wanted it to be BIGGER. Large is the LARGEST size Abercrombie sells. And, well, so sue me, I like their sweatshirts. I guess if I want a nice comfy one, I'll have to get a dude's one. But....what does a person with big boobs do if they want to wear Abercormbie shirts? They can't wear a large....because I don't have big boobs. They are average.
Or am I just totally out of the loop? I mean, I shop at like two places: Target and Old Navy. In juniors lines at Target, I wear a M. In everything else, usually a S. Their sizing is very consistent. If I buy a large, it will be bigger on me. At Old Navy, it's usually a S or M, depending on the item (Old Navy is totally wild in sizing things. They have no consistency in the least...it's the only place in the world I try things on before I buy them.)
This is why I like shoes. I buy and 8 1/2 and it fits. And if its too big, I just stuff an insert in and wear heavy socks. BAM. It fits. (I have average size feet too, it's almost impossible to find an 8 1/2 on the sale rack...and it's almost always the first size to run out online...)
Though, purses are the best. They have no size and they will always fit. Purse rock.
When I was in high school, I wore a lot of stuff from Abercrombie. I had to wear the x-small because I was...well, extra small. Everywhere. I had no boobs. I had a tiny little waist. I was basically a walking skeleton that did not enjoy buying extra small shirts and 00 pants. Because I thought it made me unhealthy. (Which is true, my doctor kept telling me to put some weight on me, but it took a good ten years to sink in.)
Anyways, the last thing I got from Abercrombie was when I was 21 and I ordered a sweater. I had boobs by this point and had about two inches more to my waist and some hips.
I am currently sitting in my house wearing a LARGE sweatshirt from Abercrombie.
It does not fit like a large. I expected to be slightly swimming in this thing, if I am honest with you. Because while I would not put myself into an extra small these days, I'd think I'd at least maybe need a medium. I read the size chart before I ordered it too. My chest is not 37-39 inches. Okay? It's 34. What the hell do people who actually have that size chest do? Because this sweatshirt would be way too tight on them. According to the size chart on the website, I need a small.
I do not need a small. I NEED A FREAKING LARGE.
Now, this has occured to me before, where I follow the size charts online only to discover they are WAY OFF.
During my skeleton phase, American Eagle claimed I needed a size 6. Yeah. Guess what happened when skeleton Ireland put those suckers on? During my time in the dirt hole, I had many battles with Victoria Secret. The website claimed I was a size 8/10. I was like, SERIOUSLY? Everywhere else, I was a 4/6. So I ignored the website and ordered my usual size. For most items, the things fit. The shorts that were a size 6 were swimming on me. The shirts that were smalls, sometimes were too tight in the chest, sometimes were fine. If it was a tank top, it was fine. If it had sleeves, it almost always had to go back for a medium. In swimsuits (which were a whole different size chart all together) I was a large top and a medium bottom. (I KNOW LARGE TOP? ARE YOU SERIOUS?) I ended up with a medium top (which was kind of small, I guess I did need a large...) and a large bottom (which was too big, go figure?) Moral of the VS website: their swimsuit guide is correct. Trust nothing else.
I am very average, okay? I have probably the most average measurements known to man, okay? I do not understand why things are sized so wildly. I mean, I don't CARE what size I wear. I don't care I am wearing a large sweatshirt. The thing that annoys me is I wanted it to be BIGGER. Large is the LARGEST size Abercrombie sells. And, well, so sue me, I like their sweatshirts. I guess if I want a nice comfy one, I'll have to get a dude's one. But....what does a person with big boobs do if they want to wear Abercormbie shirts? They can't wear a large....because I don't have big boobs. They are average.
Or am I just totally out of the loop? I mean, I shop at like two places: Target and Old Navy. In juniors lines at Target, I wear a M. In everything else, usually a S. Their sizing is very consistent. If I buy a large, it will be bigger on me. At Old Navy, it's usually a S or M, depending on the item (Old Navy is totally wild in sizing things. They have no consistency in the least...it's the only place in the world I try things on before I buy them.)
This is why I like shoes. I buy and 8 1/2 and it fits. And if its too big, I just stuff an insert in and wear heavy socks. BAM. It fits. (I have average size feet too, it's almost impossible to find an 8 1/2 on the sale rack...and it's almost always the first size to run out online...)
Though, purses are the best. They have no size and they will always fit. Purse rock.
09 June 2011
Stilletos and Fish
Some things....of interest.
1. I can walk in five inch heels. Like, skinny, platform, Victoria Beckham worthy heels.
2. When fishing in Alaska, if you walk 12 feet away from your fish, legally a bear can take your fish. (This produced several assuming images when Pilot Boy read about this little tid bit when he got his fishing license last night.)
3. In five inch heels I cannot walk as fast as Pilot Boy, even if I am almost as tall as him.
4. Editing on a Kindle is easier than on the computer. I don't know why. Ask Basil.
5. Basil is EXPLODING with fur. I think she wants to be bald.
6. There is an area of the "river" that is salt water. This area you can fish without a pole or something. Pilot Boy thought this was stupid when he first told me about it, but then 24 hours later decided he wanted to do it, so we had to go buy line and hooks to do this.
7. I still can't "style" my hair curly. It just wants to be a curly, straight, confused mess. No matter what. Dumb hair.
8. I found my Abercrombie shirt that my brother rejected, but I lived in during college. It still fits. This makes me happy. My favorite pants also still fit....even if they are a bit thin...but I never leave the house so it don't matter.
9. I've looked at my senior year yearbook like five times in the past 48 hours. I refuse to admit why I dug it out. Okay, it was for a bit of research. Okay? That's it. I couldn't remember something and I am stickler for certain details. Maybe, just maybe, that might make sense. More than likely not. BUT IT MIGHT.
10. I'm in the market for readers. Just readers. I just want you to read. That is it. I might even give you a choice on what you can read. I have several projects.
That is it. Bye.
1. I can walk in five inch heels. Like, skinny, platform, Victoria Beckham worthy heels.
2. When fishing in Alaska, if you walk 12 feet away from your fish, legally a bear can take your fish. (This produced several assuming images when Pilot Boy read about this little tid bit when he got his fishing license last night.)
3. In five inch heels I cannot walk as fast as Pilot Boy, even if I am almost as tall as him.
4. Editing on a Kindle is easier than on the computer. I don't know why. Ask Basil.
5. Basil is EXPLODING with fur. I think she wants to be bald.
6. There is an area of the "river" that is salt water. This area you can fish without a pole or something. Pilot Boy thought this was stupid when he first told me about it, but then 24 hours later decided he wanted to do it, so we had to go buy line and hooks to do this.
7. I still can't "style" my hair curly. It just wants to be a curly, straight, confused mess. No matter what. Dumb hair.
8. I found my Abercrombie shirt that my brother rejected, but I lived in during college. It still fits. This makes me happy. My favorite pants also still fit....even if they are a bit thin...but I never leave the house so it don't matter.
9. I've looked at my senior year yearbook like five times in the past 48 hours. I refuse to admit why I dug it out. Okay, it was for a bit of research. Okay? That's it. I couldn't remember something and I am stickler for certain details. Maybe, just maybe, that might make sense. More than likely not. BUT IT MIGHT.
10. I'm in the market for readers. Just readers. I just want you to read. That is it. I might even give you a choice on what you can read. I have several projects.
That is it. Bye.
03 June 2011
I Should Write a Post II
So, I should write a post.
I haven't written one in a while because I couldn't think of anything to say.
Which I still really can't. I like to kind of plan posts. Granted, I doubt anyone really appreciates the fact I sit around and plan blog posts, but it's my blog. I like to plan my posts.
I have been writing a lot. This is what I've done:
1. Finished second overhaul on 10p. I put it into Kindle format and spazed out for like a week.
2. I am almost done with the EPIC Fantasy/Sci story I started when I was 19. Then the computer ate it and I was only left with the first 60 pages, instead of the whole damn story. Last winter, I started re-writing it. I have the final battle scene to write. The End.
3. I am almost done with this crazy story I started before I went to Scotland. I was lonely. I let my mind get away from me and imagaine silly imopssobe things. I started thinking about the story again lately and was like, "Hey, I ought to finish it. It's very typical YA." Then I started writing and now it's kinda of...crazy. But I know it will END.
4. I've rediscovered Lifehouse thanks to trying to come up with titles for scenes for 10p.
5. Got chapter 2 edits form my mom. WOOT!
6. I fell in love with a fiction character. Pilot Boy didn't seem to thrilled with that. He can seem to handle my fixation with Doctor Who, but not the character in a book I read....five times. In the past four weeks.
7. I have plans to finish a few other stories....just need to find people to read them....
I haven't written one in a while because I couldn't think of anything to say.
Which I still really can't. I like to kind of plan posts. Granted, I doubt anyone really appreciates the fact I sit around and plan blog posts, but it's my blog. I like to plan my posts.
I have been writing a lot. This is what I've done:
1. Finished second overhaul on 10p. I put it into Kindle format and spazed out for like a week.
2. I am almost done with the EPIC Fantasy/Sci story I started when I was 19. Then the computer ate it and I was only left with the first 60 pages, instead of the whole damn story. Last winter, I started re-writing it. I have the final battle scene to write. The End.
3. I am almost done with this crazy story I started before I went to Scotland. I was lonely. I let my mind get away from me and imagaine silly imopssobe things. I started thinking about the story again lately and was like, "Hey, I ought to finish it. It's very typical YA." Then I started writing and now it's kinda of...crazy. But I know it will END.
4. I've rediscovered Lifehouse thanks to trying to come up with titles for scenes for 10p.
5. Got chapter 2 edits form my mom. WOOT!
6. I fell in love with a fiction character. Pilot Boy didn't seem to thrilled with that. He can seem to handle my fixation with Doctor Who, but not the character in a book I read....five times. In the past four weeks.
7. I have plans to finish a few other stories....just need to find people to read them....
15 May 2011
Agreeing with 13 Year Old Me
When I was 13 I read a book. Well, I read more than one book, but this book was so important, I wrote about it in my journal. The journal I was actually writing for my future daughter, an idea I got from another book I read when I was 13. Okay, so I read a lot of books when I was 13, but THIS ONE I REMEMBER THE TITLE OF.
Well, kinda.
I remembered the author.
Kinda.
Because when I decided I wanted to buy the book on my Kindle, it took me a few searches to get the named spelled right.
It was Tamora Pierce. Not Tamara Price. Not Tamora Price. Nor was it Tamaro Priece. (Spelling was never a strong suit in the first place.)
When I was 13, for reasons I do not remember, I decided to check out a book called Alanna: The First Adventure. I also checked out the book next to it called In the Hands of the Goddess. No clue why I did this, as if I am honest with you, I was not into these sort of books as a kid. At 13, I was searching for books about romance. Or boys. Or romances with boys. Or hair. Popularity. Stuff like that. So, no idea how the 13 year old me came across these books.
Actually, I know how I came across them...because after I'd do searches on the computers for books and not find anything, I'd go to the stacks, pick a spot and begin to look for interesting titles or books with bright colors.
Which this book did not have. So I still do not know why 13 year old me picked it up, but I did.
And they made a huge impression on me, to the point I began to consume books by Tamora Pierce. I read EVERY single book the local library had by her. FOR YEARS I would go to the spot in the library where her books lived and religiously checked for new books.
I had a favorite author and her name was Tamora Pierce and I always called her Tamara Price. (Because I was that lame.)
I believe the last time I checked the area her books lived in the library was when I was 22. It was right before we went on vacation and I needed books to read during our time in the middle of nowhere. I had learned the previous year books would save me. Tragically, I had all ready read the newest Harry Potter book, so I was at the library trying to find something to amuse myself with. I do not know what possessed me to walk over to the YA section, an area I had not visited since I graduated from high school, but I went over there. To only the section where the Pierce books lived. I don't remember what was there, or why I went, but I noticed there were two very new looking books sitting on the shelf. I picked them both up and discovered they were part of the series I had first fell in love with (well, kinda).
I checked them out.
I read them in a day.
A piece.
I fell in love with the characters from the original series all over again. I vowed I was going to start at the beginning and re-read all the Tortall books again (Tortall is the "land" where the books take place.)
I never did this.
I don't remember what happened to prevent me from doing this, as I honestly had no life that summer. I had no job and the only thing I did was re-write The Novel. First major overhaul, which oddly was inspired by reading the Trickster books.
Flash forward to today. I am not 13. I have very little in common with my 13 year old self. For one, I hate scrunchies. I am embarrassed I ever had so many. I also don't like to wear oversize t-shirts and don't wear pants that are two sizes too big for me and drag on the ground. I also will never wear clogs in the winter and think it is cool. I do not wear big old glasses nor do I have a mouth full of metal. (though, ironically, I do have braces at the moment...) I have boobs and hips. And I do not wear my hair in a ponytail on a daily basis, even though I paid over 20 dollars for a fancy haircut no one ever saw. (I pay for fancy haircuts still, but I wear them out and about these days because I know how to use a hair dryer.) I do not write in a journal any more and I have no clue where the volumes of journals are that I wrote for my future daughter. I bet my mom put them somewhere where I will never find them...like the trash can... or the box labeled IRELAND'S JUNK in the basement...
I am 27 years old (even though I keep thinking I am 28). But I still am in love with the books I read at 13. However, I have learned that even though I thought these books were the BEST BOOKS in the whole wide world, I totally did not READ them, as at 27, I had no clue WHAT THEY WERE ABOUT. If you had asked me last week, what these books were about, I would have told you something way out in left field.
Alanna is about a girl who decides she wants to be a knight instead of a lady, so she goes off to be a knight. That much 13 year old me understood. What 13 year old me failed to remember about the book was that a major plot point in the book took place. 27 year old me did not see that one coming. It was out of left field. (The other left field, not the one 13 year old me was standing in.)
In the Hand of the Goddess also was filled with many surprises. And things I never understood at 13, because I read fast and I only read the books once. (At 27 I know I ALWAYS must read books at least twice before I make any decision on them, as the first read through is always too fast. And I miss major plot points.)
Things in my 13 year old head were very jumbled up compared to how they actually occurred in the books. As I continued to read the Lioness series (the Alanna books), I realized I FAILED AT LIFE when I read them the first time. I did not understand or comprehend a lot of what was going on. I remember being pissed off at Alanna for not being queen. I had no clue who George was or why he was important. I honestly thought that in the books Alanna battled her twin brother, and sorcerer, Thom. Not the guy she actually battled, who when he appeared in my 27 year old read through, I was like WHO THE HELL IS THIS? I was making up my OWN STORIES about the books when I read them at 13. I did the same with The Immortals series, the next series I read by Pierce. That one I totally jumped ship as I had no clue when I read them at 27 what they were about other than I knew in the end the main character got together with the tall dude I called NICK through out the book in my head. His name was not Nick in the least by the way. I don't know WHY I even called him that. (Okay, I do. But I am NOT going to tell you.)
I spent the past week re-reading the Lioness and Immortal series. They are wonderful books, seriously, they are. I love the rich world Pierce creates. I love the characters for who they are and at 27, when I slowly read through them, I picked up on things that I did not see at 13 because I read through them too quickly. At 13, I got hung up on the various romances that Alanna had. (And totally missed one...go figure). At 27, I realized George was very important. On many levels. More important than Jonathan even (who at 13, I was madly in love with). I also noticed the sub-theme of how Alanna struggled to figure out her identity, which was something I totally flew passed at 13. I was mad at her throughout the last two books because she seemed to just whine about being a girl or something. I know I read the last two books, but until two days ago, I could not for the life of me actually tell you what they were about in the least. I just knew that in the end, Alanna got married. The end.
Anyways, one thing my 13 year old self got out of these books were they are GOOD. I am serious, they are good. So good, I went through a total of 8 books in a week. (A book and half a day. Or more.) I finished yesterday and was SO SAD that I was done with the first two series. (There is another four book series that takes place in Tortall and then the two Trickers books, but I am saving those for a later date. Or and then one that takes place before Alanna's time about a ancestor of George, but those are for a later date as well.) I am glad I bought them (even if I had to buy the last Immortal book through B&N and thus can only read it on my iPhone or computer...but I'll bitch about that later. Or not.)
If you are looking for a new series to get into (or get back into) check out the Song of the Lioness Series and The Immortals series by Tamora Pierce. Well worth a read or two.
Well, kinda.
I remembered the author.
Kinda.
Because when I decided I wanted to buy the book on my Kindle, it took me a few searches to get the named spelled right.
It was Tamora Pierce. Not Tamara Price. Not Tamora Price. Nor was it Tamaro Priece. (Spelling was never a strong suit in the first place.)
When I was 13, for reasons I do not remember, I decided to check out a book called Alanna: The First Adventure. I also checked out the book next to it called In the Hands of the Goddess. No clue why I did this, as if I am honest with you, I was not into these sort of books as a kid. At 13, I was searching for books about romance. Or boys. Or romances with boys. Or hair. Popularity. Stuff like that. So, no idea how the 13 year old me came across these books.
Actually, I know how I came across them...because after I'd do searches on the computers for books and not find anything, I'd go to the stacks, pick a spot and begin to look for interesting titles or books with bright colors.
Which this book did not have. So I still do not know why 13 year old me picked it up, but I did.
And they made a huge impression on me, to the point I began to consume books by Tamora Pierce. I read EVERY single book the local library had by her. FOR YEARS I would go to the spot in the library where her books lived and religiously checked for new books.
I had a favorite author and her name was Tamora Pierce and I always called her Tamara Price. (Because I was that lame.)
I believe the last time I checked the area her books lived in the library was when I was 22. It was right before we went on vacation and I needed books to read during our time in the middle of nowhere. I had learned the previous year books would save me. Tragically, I had all ready read the newest Harry Potter book, so I was at the library trying to find something to amuse myself with. I do not know what possessed me to walk over to the YA section, an area I had not visited since I graduated from high school, but I went over there. To only the section where the Pierce books lived. I don't remember what was there, or why I went, but I noticed there were two very new looking books sitting on the shelf. I picked them both up and discovered they were part of the series I had first fell in love with (well, kinda).
I checked them out.
I read them in a day.
A piece.
I fell in love with the characters from the original series all over again. I vowed I was going to start at the beginning and re-read all the Tortall books again (Tortall is the "land" where the books take place.)
I never did this.
I don't remember what happened to prevent me from doing this, as I honestly had no life that summer. I had no job and the only thing I did was re-write The Novel. First major overhaul, which oddly was inspired by reading the Trickster books.
Flash forward to today. I am not 13. I have very little in common with my 13 year old self. For one, I hate scrunchies. I am embarrassed I ever had so many. I also don't like to wear oversize t-shirts and don't wear pants that are two sizes too big for me and drag on the ground. I also will never wear clogs in the winter and think it is cool. I do not wear big old glasses nor do I have a mouth full of metal. (though, ironically, I do have braces at the moment...) I have boobs and hips. And I do not wear my hair in a ponytail on a daily basis, even though I paid over 20 dollars for a fancy haircut no one ever saw. (I pay for fancy haircuts still, but I wear them out and about these days because I know how to use a hair dryer.) I do not write in a journal any more and I have no clue where the volumes of journals are that I wrote for my future daughter. I bet my mom put them somewhere where I will never find them...like the trash can... or the box labeled IRELAND'S JUNK in the basement...
I am 27 years old (even though I keep thinking I am 28). But I still am in love with the books I read at 13. However, I have learned that even though I thought these books were the BEST BOOKS in the whole wide world, I totally did not READ them, as at 27, I had no clue WHAT THEY WERE ABOUT. If you had asked me last week, what these books were about, I would have told you something way out in left field.
Alanna is about a girl who decides she wants to be a knight instead of a lady, so she goes off to be a knight. That much 13 year old me understood. What 13 year old me failed to remember about the book was that a major plot point in the book took place. 27 year old me did not see that one coming. It was out of left field. (The other left field, not the one 13 year old me was standing in.)
In the Hand of the Goddess also was filled with many surprises. And things I never understood at 13, because I read fast and I only read the books once. (At 27 I know I ALWAYS must read books at least twice before I make any decision on them, as the first read through is always too fast. And I miss major plot points.)
Things in my 13 year old head were very jumbled up compared to how they actually occurred in the books. As I continued to read the Lioness series (the Alanna books), I realized I FAILED AT LIFE when I read them the first time. I did not understand or comprehend a lot of what was going on. I remember being pissed off at Alanna for not being queen. I had no clue who George was or why he was important. I honestly thought that in the books Alanna battled her twin brother, and sorcerer, Thom. Not the guy she actually battled, who when he appeared in my 27 year old read through, I was like WHO THE HELL IS THIS? I was making up my OWN STORIES about the books when I read them at 13. I did the same with The Immortals series, the next series I read by Pierce. That one I totally jumped ship as I had no clue when I read them at 27 what they were about other than I knew in the end the main character got together with the tall dude I called NICK through out the book in my head. His name was not Nick in the least by the way. I don't know WHY I even called him that. (Okay, I do. But I am NOT going to tell you.)
I spent the past week re-reading the Lioness and Immortal series. They are wonderful books, seriously, they are. I love the rich world Pierce creates. I love the characters for who they are and at 27, when I slowly read through them, I picked up on things that I did not see at 13 because I read through them too quickly. At 13, I got hung up on the various romances that Alanna had. (And totally missed one...go figure). At 27, I realized George was very important. On many levels. More important than Jonathan even (who at 13, I was madly in love with). I also noticed the sub-theme of how Alanna struggled to figure out her identity, which was something I totally flew passed at 13. I was mad at her throughout the last two books because she seemed to just whine about being a girl or something. I know I read the last two books, but until two days ago, I could not for the life of me actually tell you what they were about in the least. I just knew that in the end, Alanna got married. The end.
Anyways, one thing my 13 year old self got out of these books were they are GOOD. I am serious, they are good. So good, I went through a total of 8 books in a week. (A book and half a day. Or more.) I finished yesterday and was SO SAD that I was done with the first two series. (There is another four book series that takes place in Tortall and then the two Trickers books, but I am saving those for a later date. Or and then one that takes place before Alanna's time about a ancestor of George, but those are for a later date as well.) I am glad I bought them (even if I had to buy the last Immortal book through B&N and thus can only read it on my iPhone or computer...but I'll bitch about that later. Or not.)
If you are looking for a new series to get into (or get back into) check out the Song of the Lioness Series and The Immortals series by Tamora Pierce. Well worth a read or two.
29 April 2011
Nice Day for a Wedding
At 11 pm last night, I concluded I did not want to remain awake till 3 am to watch the Royal Wedding live, as even though I adore all things British, I like sleep more.
So I went to bed.
I got up at nine, knowing the BBC was going to be running the thing all day long, and low and behold, I flipped on BBC America and sure enough, right in the middle of the wedding. Woot.
I settled int to watch, not really sure what point they were at as the preacher (or whatever he is called) was preaching. I didn't really listen to him, just kept glancing up as I read through Twitter, waiting to catch Kate's dress.
I adore her style. There I said it. Mostly because she wears things I WOULD WEAR (if I had the money). That and she's got long brown hair. I have long brown hair too.
Go me.
So, I was sitting there and they finally showed her. First thought: Who put her blush on? I know she's supposed to be a blushing bride, and I know she has to do her make up a wee bit different due to the fact she is on TV, but there was a streak on her face people.
I couldn't find a picture of that first time I saw her. It was an extreme closeup on her as she sat in the church during the preaching part. I was like, "Huh?"
Then she stood up.
And my jaw drop.
She was wearing my dress.
Of course, I do need to explain this.
When I was about 19, my friends (both with the same name, so they are both collectively known here as J...confusing, yes...not important though) and I had this sleep over where we "planned" our weddings. We got all the bridal magazines, we shopped for rings online, we planned the dates, the colors, the invites, etc.
I was going to get married on 31 December, because why not roll a wedding into a New Years Eve party? (At 19, I still seemed to believe I'd like parties someday.) At 19, I also had no boobs to speak of, so I didn't like the strapless gowns that were all the rage. Actually, I hated them. It was like HELLO SKIN. I hated that look, mostly because I hated my skin. I thought getting married in the dead of winter would allow for long sleeved dresses with high back sand fronts. In an ad of all things, I found what I was looking for. This (kind of):
Well, pretty much. I hate trains, so I'd never have one. But that was what I had always imagined I'd wear. That was what it looked like IN MY HEAD, as I never did find the dress from the ad anywhere, and it was just a back shot of the dress in the ad I saw at 19.
Flash forward five years and me trying to find something to wear to my wedding. I gave up quickly on the whole 31 December idea, partly because by this point in time I knew for a fact that Pilot Boy would NEVER remain awake till midnight (strangely he did on our wedding night. We were still up and being social after midnight...shock). Also, it seemed not very ME and Pilot Boy to pick that day. This is how I picked the day I wanted to get married: I stared at my calendar on my desk at work and saw that the 27th of October was a Saturday. It looked like a good day to get married. I did this before he asked me marry him too, by the way. It also just fit. My parents got married in October, some 30 years before we got married. It struck me as horribly romantic and sweet. They celebrated their 30th and a few weeks later we got married.
I did not wear a dress like I had dreamed about. Know why? Sleeves were nowhere to be found. Granted I did not got an actual bridal shop...very unlike me. I hunted department stores. For a cream colored dress. That was all I wanted. I did not want an actual ball gown, did not want an actual white dress. I wanted a cream colored dress. So I looked at prom dresses. I refused to pay more than 200 dollars. And for me that was A LOT, as I had never bought a dress that was not on sale when I did buy formal dresses. (My whole wedding unfolded like nothing I had imagined. I am serious. It was like "anti-me" but me at the same time. Figure that out on your own.)
I found my dress at Macy's. With Pilot Boy. Then I dragged my mom to look at it. I could tell she thought it was right, but first she was like, "One, you're not officially engaged and Two, you will freeze."
She always thinks I will freeze. Because she knows me.
Anyways, he did ask, and I sat in the court room when I should have been listening to something about Conrad Black, but all I could think was "I NEED THAT DRESS." That evening, alone, I went to Macy's and bought it. I also bought a cream cardigan to wear with it to appease my mother who was afraid I'd get cold in my strapless dress. (Yeah, you read that right. I had boobs by this point. Late bloomer.) I took it to the counter and paid 200 bucks for both the dress and the cardigan. Since I looked about 18 at the time, the lady told me to have fun at the dance.
I did not wear the cardigan and I sweat to death, as we got married next to a roaring fire. I wasn't even standing next to the fireplace. I can't imagine what Pilot Boy (who was next to it) was feeling, as the only thing he later told me was I crushed his hands as I was squeezing them too tight, which I did to distract myself from the fact there was seat dripping down my back.
I did not manage to see what sort of shoes the new Duchess was wearing, but I'll just imagine she was wearing a pair like mine, which I found at DSW shoes and perfectly matched to the point where I swear they were made out of the same material the satin trim on the dress pictured above. They also had a 1920s flare to them, kind of like the dress. (Which was what my mother told me, I was pretty sure they did not wear dresses like the one pictured above in the 20s.)
The point? I spent the entire three hours I watched the coverage before it circled around to where I showed up staring at Kate's dress and trying to figure out how she had managed to produce the dress that was IN MY HEAD. Unless she broke into my head when I was sleeping....
So I went to bed.
I got up at nine, knowing the BBC was going to be running the thing all day long, and low and behold, I flipped on BBC America and sure enough, right in the middle of the wedding. Woot.
I settled int to watch, not really sure what point they were at as the preacher (or whatever he is called) was preaching. I didn't really listen to him, just kept glancing up as I read through Twitter, waiting to catch Kate's dress.
I adore her style. There I said it. Mostly because she wears things I WOULD WEAR (if I had the money). That and she's got long brown hair. I have long brown hair too.
Go me.
So, I was sitting there and they finally showed her. First thought: Who put her blush on? I know she's supposed to be a blushing bride, and I know she has to do her make up a wee bit different due to the fact she is on TV, but there was a streak on her face people.
 |
| Image from CBS News |
I couldn't find a picture of that first time I saw her. It was an extreme closeup on her as she sat in the church during the preaching part. I was like, "Huh?"
Then she stood up.
And my jaw drop.
She was wearing my dress.
Of course, I do need to explain this.
When I was about 19, my friends (both with the same name, so they are both collectively known here as J...confusing, yes...not important though) and I had this sleep over where we "planned" our weddings. We got all the bridal magazines, we shopped for rings online, we planned the dates, the colors, the invites, etc.
I was going to get married on 31 December, because why not roll a wedding into a New Years Eve party? (At 19, I still seemed to believe I'd like parties someday.) At 19, I also had no boobs to speak of, so I didn't like the strapless gowns that were all the rage. Actually, I hated them. It was like HELLO SKIN. I hated that look, mostly because I hated my skin. I thought getting married in the dead of winter would allow for long sleeved dresses with high back sand fronts. In an ad of all things, I found what I was looking for. This (kind of):
 |
| Image from CBS News |
Well, pretty much. I hate trains, so I'd never have one. But that was what I had always imagined I'd wear. That was what it looked like IN MY HEAD, as I never did find the dress from the ad anywhere, and it was just a back shot of the dress in the ad I saw at 19.
Flash forward five years and me trying to find something to wear to my wedding. I gave up quickly on the whole 31 December idea, partly because by this point in time I knew for a fact that Pilot Boy would NEVER remain awake till midnight (strangely he did on our wedding night. We were still up and being social after midnight...shock). Also, it seemed not very ME and Pilot Boy to pick that day. This is how I picked the day I wanted to get married: I stared at my calendar on my desk at work and saw that the 27th of October was a Saturday. It looked like a good day to get married. I did this before he asked me marry him too, by the way. It also just fit. My parents got married in October, some 30 years before we got married. It struck me as horribly romantic and sweet. They celebrated their 30th and a few weeks later we got married.
I did not wear a dress like I had dreamed about. Know why? Sleeves were nowhere to be found. Granted I did not got an actual bridal shop...very unlike me. I hunted department stores. For a cream colored dress. That was all I wanted. I did not want an actual ball gown, did not want an actual white dress. I wanted a cream colored dress. So I looked at prom dresses. I refused to pay more than 200 dollars. And for me that was A LOT, as I had never bought a dress that was not on sale when I did buy formal dresses. (My whole wedding unfolded like nothing I had imagined. I am serious. It was like "anti-me" but me at the same time. Figure that out on your own.)
I found my dress at Macy's. With Pilot Boy. Then I dragged my mom to look at it. I could tell she thought it was right, but first she was like, "One, you're not officially engaged and Two, you will freeze."
She always thinks I will freeze. Because she knows me.
Anyways, he did ask, and I sat in the court room when I should have been listening to something about Conrad Black, but all I could think was "I NEED THAT DRESS." That evening, alone, I went to Macy's and bought it. I also bought a cream cardigan to wear with it to appease my mother who was afraid I'd get cold in my strapless dress. (Yeah, you read that right. I had boobs by this point. Late bloomer.) I took it to the counter and paid 200 bucks for both the dress and the cardigan. Since I looked about 18 at the time, the lady told me to have fun at the dance.
 |
| The prom dress that became a wedding dress |
I did not wear the cardigan and I sweat to death, as we got married next to a roaring fire. I wasn't even standing next to the fireplace. I can't imagine what Pilot Boy (who was next to it) was feeling, as the only thing he later told me was I crushed his hands as I was squeezing them too tight, which I did to distract myself from the fact there was seat dripping down my back.
I did not manage to see what sort of shoes the new Duchess was wearing, but I'll just imagine she was wearing a pair like mine, which I found at DSW shoes and perfectly matched to the point where I swear they were made out of the same material the satin trim on the dress pictured above. They also had a 1920s flare to them, kind of like the dress. (Which was what my mother told me, I was pretty sure they did not wear dresses like the one pictured above in the 20s.)
The point? I spent the entire three hours I watched the coverage before it circled around to where I showed up staring at Kate's dress and trying to figure out how she had managed to produce the dress that was IN MY HEAD. Unless she broke into my head when I was sleeping....
27 April 2011
Adventures in the Kitchen
Well, I tried to make biscotti. I was going to do a whole post on it and how wonderful it was. I took pictures and everything.
Then it tasted like shit. So I threw it out.
I then made skinny red velvet cupcakes.
They also taste like crap, but not as much.
I think the culprit is the whole wheat flour, which is not white whole wheat flour. The whole wheat flour is way to strong for the recommended dosage each recipe calls for. Except for the Whole Wheat Pancakes. Those always turn out right.
Maybe next time I make those, I'll do a picture post.
*deletes all the biscotti pictures*
In other news, Maureen Johnson's Last Little Blue Envelope came out yesterday and I read it. Yesterday. I started re-reading it two hours later. Because I read it too fast to really enjoy it because I HAD TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. But it is VERY GOOD and you SHOULD READ IT NOW. (But I am a sucker for books that feature British people with Americans as well as traveling stories.)
In other news, you should buy it.
Then it tasted like shit. So I threw it out.
I then made skinny red velvet cupcakes.
They also taste like crap, but not as much.
I think the culprit is the whole wheat flour, which is not white whole wheat flour. The whole wheat flour is way to strong for the recommended dosage each recipe calls for. Except for the Whole Wheat Pancakes. Those always turn out right.
Maybe next time I make those, I'll do a picture post.
*deletes all the biscotti pictures*
In other news, Maureen Johnson's Last Little Blue Envelope came out yesterday and I read it. Yesterday. I started re-reading it two hours later. Because I read it too fast to really enjoy it because I HAD TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. But it is VERY GOOD and you SHOULD READ IT NOW. (But I am a sucker for books that feature British people with Americans as well as traveling stories.)
In other news, you should buy it.
22 April 2011
I Won't Hug Trees that Attack
It has been brought to my attention it is Earth Day.
Oh. Well, okay.
I've seen things about picking up litter, hugging trees, being green.
I'll do this: I'll try to remember to take my reusable bag to Target.
I won't pick up litter. It makes me mad. I don't want to pick up your trash, okay? If you want a clean place, THROW IT IN THE TRASH IN THE FIRST PLACE. I do not understand the attraction of dropping trash on the ground for the whole world to see. I don't even want to pick up the trash that is in my OWN FRONT YARD. I did not put it there. Why the hell did someone put a razor in my front yard?
I will not hug the trees in my front yard. They attack me. I do not know what it is about me, as they leave Pilot Boy alone, but they ATTACK me. I do not have good relationships with trees in the first place, as they make me sneeze, so the fact the two trees at our house insist on pulling my hair and dropping bugs on me when I mow the lawn....well, we hate one another, so I will not hug them.
On a different note: every day should be Earth Day and I wish Anchorage would recycle glass. I understand how the whole recycle thing works, so I understand why the program is so limited, but it still makes me kind of mad.
*ends rant and goes to Target*
Oh. Well, okay.
I've seen things about picking up litter, hugging trees, being green.
I'll do this: I'll try to remember to take my reusable bag to Target.
I won't pick up litter. It makes me mad. I don't want to pick up your trash, okay? If you want a clean place, THROW IT IN THE TRASH IN THE FIRST PLACE. I do not understand the attraction of dropping trash on the ground for the whole world to see. I don't even want to pick up the trash that is in my OWN FRONT YARD. I did not put it there. Why the hell did someone put a razor in my front yard?
I will not hug the trees in my front yard. They attack me. I do not know what it is about me, as they leave Pilot Boy alone, but they ATTACK me. I do not have good relationships with trees in the first place, as they make me sneeze, so the fact the two trees at our house insist on pulling my hair and dropping bugs on me when I mow the lawn....well, we hate one another, so I will not hug them.
On a different note: every day should be Earth Day and I wish Anchorage would recycle glass. I understand how the whole recycle thing works, so I understand why the program is so limited, but it still makes me kind of mad.
*ends rant and goes to Target*
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