Alanis Morrisette has ruined that word forever.
There are only two telephone companies in Fairbanks. Currently, I am being pursued by collections from company #1 for telephone service at my ex-boyfriend's apartment, where I never lived. He is being pursued by collections from company #2 for an unpaid bill at the Baurick Court house in March 2009. He moved out in June 2008.
After some quality time on hold with company #2, we discovered that when the bill finally switched over to my name, it was technically a different account. And even though both accounts had my credit card for auto pay, they never processed the balance from his account for March. They were demanding a late fee for the unpaid bill, but they quickly backed down. They had payment, they just didn't use it. It would be like charging me a late fee because I sent them a check and they didn't bother depositing it until the next month.
Company #1 remains a mystery, as they clearly have an account set up in my name at that address. Too bad I was living at the commune at the time.
Our first snow has arrived. It's melting away as I type, but I did wake up to a white lawn this morning. Last year the first snow also fell during Starvation Gulch, but it never went away. I recall getting pelted with snowy hail while standing next to the massive bonfires on campus, then driving home in a furious snowstorm. I think it's time to get the snow tires back and put them on the car.
Alanis Morrisette has ruined that word forever.
Fun fact: It is raining at home. It is snowing at work. The two locations are less than 2 miles apart.
Last year, as I recall, the first snow never really melted. It started during Starvation Gulch and hung around until April. I hope this year is not the same. I want the snow, just not yet.
For the record, I was the only single and chaste girl in the room. This reputation is undeserved.
I think part of the reason I haven't been writing on my blog much lately is because I've been on Facebook. Once I've written something there, it doesn't make much sense to write it here as well, right?
I'm throwing myself back into a busy schedule. Tonight I had a private cha cha lesson, followed by the first of a 6-week tango class. Tomorrow night I start a zymurgy class with some of my friends. Wednesdays are still bellydance rehearsals, and Thursdays I have ATS class.
The cha cha is one in a series of private lessons I've been doing with an instructor who is a friend of mine. It is very conveniently located at a private studio 4 houses down from me. Tonight, the studio owner popped upstairs. Lo and behold, it was my dance partner Jeff! I don't know Jeff very well, but whenever I go to the Silver Spur (small text=big shame) I try to hog all his time. Not only does he own the studio and live down the road from me, but he is a general contractor who just sold his plumbing and heating business. Now there's a friendship to cultivate! Plus, I can just lay on the horn outside his house and force him to go dancing with me!
Tango is a new experiment. I chose it because it was the most interesting sounding of the Monday night classes, and I don't have much in the way of free time. My friend John Gimbel is in the class, as well as a sort-of coworker, Nicole. I got paired up with another guy named John, a big fellow who seemed pretty decent on his feet though he didn't give enough indication of an upcoming change. Near the end of the class, all the partner-less people had to switch to a different lead, which is how I got paired up with Tom. Now, I was already tired and had been wearing my dance heels for a long time. (And one of the instructors followed me along the dance floor for a bit, admiring my custom-made dance shoes!) Tom and I did not dance well together. Sure, he gave great cues, but our bodies weren't compatible. He was a smaller guy, and our legs kept bumping and I felt like there was no tension in our dance frame.
Still, several weeks of upcoming classes, plus the possibility of being able to stalk Jeff and go dancing regularly has me quite excited.
I promised to post photos from my trip along the Denali Highway, didn't I? And I never did. Well, until now, that is...
The start of the road. The second day was mostly overcast like this.
I have a Gorillapod, and I'm not afraid to use it. Also, I have on a lot of clothing but no bear spray. Oops. There's no excuse for the sullen look.
Can you find the hunter in this picture?
Along the McClaren Summit Trail. The weather started to clear up a bit. And by "clear up" I mean the clouds moved from one side of the trail to the other.
I picked a lovely spot to camp. Those random white bits in the picture? Bones.
Lots of bones.
Including this partial leg I found near my tent.
Dismembered animals weren't enough incentive to move my camp, though. Perhaps a nice fire will keep the bears away.
The weather was quite nice the next morning. Until it started to rain as I was breaking down the tent.
The view is lovely, but you can see why you shouldn't drive too fast. Most of the road is like this.
I tried for a better shot, but failed. What, you may ask, was I trying to get in the picture? If you look very, very closely, there's a bald eagle. But my zoom is not so good, and it flew away when I tried walking closer.
I feel this way every year. Every year since 2001, there has been mourning, ceremony and memories. And every year I get angry, but it's not the anger you'd expect. Maybe anger isn't even the right word. It's hard to explain, but here it goes:
My 9/11 was not your 9/11. And I don't want to spend my time talking about what the day was like for me. I certainly don't want to hear about what it was like for you. The sensation gets stronger now that I live in Alaska. I don't care about hunters who were stranded for days because planes couldn't fly in to pick them up. I don't care that you woke up to a phone call. I can't quite put it into words succinctly, and I've already devoted more space to it than I ever wanted to. Just let people have the privacy they might need. I'm not going to put my emotions on public display.
beating Patrick's robot team
It's....there was...you see....oh, you just had to be there. Robot races at work. Coming after the free cookies and smoked moose ribs, it kind of just capped off the day. I like my job.
Life in the far north is not always all it's cracked up to be. I can't see Russia from here, but that's probably because of the ice fog.
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