a lot of change will do you good

It's amazing how much everything has changed in the past year. There's so many new people I've had the pleasure of meeting. There's so many people I've known and lost, one way or the other. I just wish I knew if all this change is for the good or not. I figure it has to be.

And is all of it worth not being able to see all those I love on a daily basis?

megan, the coffee slut

Why is it that I frequent certain bars every other week or so and I end up being charged for only one drink out of several, yet I go to the capitalistic entity known as Starbucks every single day (sometimes twice) and yet I get nothing? In both establishments my name and my "usual" beverage are known, but only at Starbucks is that kind of loyal patronage not rewarded.

Not that I expect or demand anything for free. I'm not a cheap ass. I go there for the coffee, just as I go to a bar for booze (usually there's a certain social element as well). The recognition and personal greeting are rewards themselves. And I am usually not charged for an extra shot of espresso or a flavor addition. Yet after years of devoted caffeine consumption and Lord knows how much money spent (really, I don't wanna know...) you'd think they could slip a free latte across the counter for me occasionally.

smile like you mean it

Dental hygienists are the spawn of the devil. Okay, perhaps an exaggeration on my part, but I do believe one of the requirements to become one has to be seriously sadistic tendencies. As the taste of my own blood filled my mouth I was just waiting to hear evil laughter emanating from behind that surgical mask.

My gums will never forgive me.

My teeth, however, are beaming with pride over the fact that it's been 3 years since I've stepped foot in a dentist office and I remain cavity free still. Rock on. These same teeth would be a lot happier if they hadn't also learned that I was advised to finally have my wisdom teeth pulled. Not because they hurt or anything, just as a preventative measure.

And since when do you not receive a free toothbrush at the dentist?!?!

On the way back from the dentist I had the funniest bus driver EVER. He was rambling on and on about anything and everything. He talked in weird voices and accents. After an older couple exited he told the rest of the bus patrons, "Alright, now that grandma and grandpa are gone WE CAN PARTY!" My faith is now restored in the public transit system, for they apparently are capable of hiring silly people.

thank god for being a pedestrian

Is it wrong of me to enjoy watching people getting towed? It's not that I'm happy for them, I just find it amusing. Like when you see someone fall and can't help but to laugh. I have to work in the a.m. and yet I opt to stay up late to see their drunken responses when they discover their car missing. Not only that, but considering I'm standing out on the lanai it's perfectly reasonable they could see me watching them in what is most likely not their proudest moment.

Our cops are assholes. They sit in their cruisers nearby and wait for vehicles to park in the verboten area. As soon as the driver leaves, they call the towing company to pick the car up. This cycle continues several times each night. If you ever wonder why most people that live here avoid Waikiki, aside from the grotesque numbers of tourists, this would be why.

girl anachronism

I apologize for my choppy and anachronistically challenged posts lately, but I'm dealing with an unreliable internet connection here, folks. You're lucky to get what you did.

Oh, and what's up with Caroline Kennedy withdrawing her name from consideration for Hillary Clinton's open Senate seat? Did anyone else find the notion of a Kennedy (obviously Uncle Ted doesn't count) back in politics nostalgic? (Or would I have to have lived during that time period to count it as nostalgia??? Speaking of anachronistically challenged, maybe I am?) I always had a mysterious admiration for her, despite not knowing that much about her.

a letter: dear honolulu police department...

Although I appreciate your level of attentiveness, could you please stop using your position of authority to tow cars in Waikiki every night and start concentrating more on all the ice heads running amok in our beautiful city? I would appreciate it...and I don't even own a vehicle.

Thank you,
Concerned haole girl

america the beautiful

After eight long years, the reign of Bush is over. While I regret the loss of comedic fodder this change brings, I am hopeful and excited about our country's future...and ultimately, my future. Normally I hate change. I never adjust well. However, even my own reluctant self can recognize that it is time.

I am not going to blindly romanticize Obama's presidency like so many other Americans seem to be well on their way to doing. He is not a god. Our economy is not going to miraculously do a 180 today. Cancer is not going to suddenly cure itself. I may be hopeful, but I am still a realist. He admitted himself that mistakes would probably be made. He is human. And although staunch Republicans will most likely label Obama's confession as nothing but a disclaimer, just to cover his ass should something the magnitude of the WMD debacle occur under his watch, I believe he too is just trying to inject a morsel of realism into America. Bottom line? There is no easy fix. The good news? Now we have hope.

Hope is miraculous.

Apparently Republicans (okay, only the ignorant ones who feel the need to broadcast their opinions to the masses and condemn those with different ideas...so, you know, 90% of them...okay, I kid, I kid) aren't familiar with hope. I find it futile and redundant to rant about political differences. There are a few points I'd like to make though.

Republicans are a disgustingly negative group (obvious generalization). Their response to this would be to paint Democrats as unrealistic hippies with their heads in the clouds. Then so be it. I don't believe I'm unrealistic, but I am optimistic. Is that so bad? Isn't that the only option right now. What's the point in being all woe-is-me-I-lost-my-tail-again about the economy?

Democrats were deemed classless for booing Bush when he appeared at the inauguration. Perhaps it didn't exhibit the flawless manners our mothers sent us out into this world with, but those matter little after enduring eight long years of Bush. Mature? No, but well deserved. Although I won't say the entire nation was unwavering in their support of him, especially later on in his presidency, I do think that we all wished him success. How could we not? Whether we liked it or not, he was our president. Our success was dependent on him. Yet self-righteous Republicans can't do so much as hope the best for Obama and he has barely even started his term. This is the country you live in. Isn't it against your best interest to wish the worst for him? If you think I'm making this up just check out Rush Limbaugh's remarks of late. IT'S ONLY BEEN DAYS SINCE HE WAS SWORN IN! And Limbaugh specifically hopes Obama crashes and burns.

Please, please, please put your differences aside. Everyone is aware of where each side stands. No one is asking you to agree with everything Obama has to say, not even Democrats should feel obligated to do that. There is no reason to divide ourselves though. The current administration doesn't want everyone brainwashed to be on their team, but they do want some bipartisan efforts to be made. If we are going to mend our country, we need to do it together.

a moment on the lips

I'm debating whether or not to go back on the South Beach Diet. In the last few weeks I have made an attempt to eat healthier. Groceries were purchased so that I could avoid the temptation to dine out. I find my portion sizes are more realistic if I'm making my own meals. I also made try to avoid artificial items (with the exception of a can of Wolfgang Puck's New England clam chowder...what can I say, I wanted some chowdah!).

Although this is progress, I still indulge occasionally. There are some local eateries that I frequent and until I summon the nerve to commit to South Beach (for it is not something to be entered lightly) for an entire month, I will continue to frequent these places. I just try to make healthier decisions when doing so.

Saturday, in an effort to avoid a massive crowd in queue for the Bus and the inevitable corresponding hour long trip, I left for work early. And I arrived to Ward Center in 20 minutes. Haha! I knew coffee was required to function in Buca di Hellhole, but instead of the habitual Starbucks run I opted for something different. Since leaving the land (in recent years it snuck it's way across the border) of the Canadian coffee haven Timmy Ho's, I miss a plain ole cup of decent coffee. Nothing flavored, foamed, or fancy...just good strong fresh-brewed coffee. Double cream, single sugar, if you please. Oh, and my sweet tooth was also acting up...again. So with a good book in hand, I stopped by Satura Cakes in hopes that I could spend an hour relaxing before heading in.



I was not disappointed.



In previous trips I have sampled many of their gourmet desserts and have yet to discover one I wouldn't order again.



Their coffee is strong, while still remaining enjoyable. And the delightful caramel crunch cream puff contained just enough sugar without causing me to go into diabetic shock. My only complaint is that they never leave enough room in your coffee for cream, nor do they ask. It happens every time and I'm always too distracted by the aromas to remind them, resulting in a puddle of cream diluted java in my saucer. I balance my various belongings in one arm, use my backside to open the door, and tread cautiously like a tightrope walker, hoping not to stain my shirt with the precious liquid.

My food travels also lead me back to Mac 24-7 last night. Oprah and I were not entirely impressed when we visited several months ago. Portions were adequate, but it still seemed overpriced. However, when it's 1am, your options are limited. I was hungry, but indecisive, which is usually the case with me. For some reason I decided on the cinnamon cluster pancakes. Whether or not the three pints of Newcastle I had influenced me in this decision, I don't know. But the two don't go well together. Surprise, surprise.



Yes, they are as big as they look. Over a foot in diameter and three stacks deep. I responded to the server by joking if I received a prize for finishing them. He replied that I wouldn't have to pay and he'd put a plaque up with my name on it. I smiled back in amusement until I realized he was serious. Really? Shouldn't I have been warned about this? I mean, I think it was pretty obvious I had not intended on participating in some kind of gluttonous competition upon entering. What's wrong with a girl just waiting some pancakes?

Alas, I barely made a dent. The kindly server wrapped the leftovers for me and sent me off into the night with a cake box full of pancakes that could feed a family of twelve.

auntie em! auntie em!

I can't be sure, but I think the sun may be attempting to shine. This is quite unexpected. The city issued a weather warning days ago, hoping for Honolulu citizens to be able to brace themselves for the tropical storm (60+ mph) caliber high winds we were predicted to endure. Mind you, we're always subject to spontaneous high winds. I don't see why we're supposed to go into hiding now. The last 24 hours (this prediction was put into effect 6pm last night) have shown nothing out of the ordinary weather-wise. No large trucks or buses were blown off course, like they claimed was possible. (Hallelujah, considering I take the Bus to work.) No lawn furniture, street signs, or inanimate objects were turned into deadly projectiles, like they warned. (I prefer not to die a la Final Destination, thank you. Especially considering my graphic dreams of late.) Sure there's been some mild winds and intermittent rain, but nothing a hot cup of tea (cocoa, coffee...pick your poison...) and a good book can't solve.

Fifteen minutes later...

Lo and behold, clear blue skies and flawless rays of sunshine! If only sunset wasn't in half an hour.

I have yet to determine whether or not I approve of my ever-changing work schedule. On one hand, I do need to dispose of the physically taxing and financially disappointing doubles. However, the other shifts I've been assigned aren't exactly lucrative. It's hard to tell whether this is due to the drop in overall sales post-Christmas, or just my schedule itself.

That being said, I don't mind this whole having-Friday-nights-off deal. Friday nights have always been hit or miss anyways. Tonight I took the opportunity to finally make guacamole. Ole! I altered a few things from the norm, most notably the diced jalapeno. I'd give my recipe, but I regard it as somewhat secret. Let me just clarify that no cilantro was involved. Absolutely not.



And yes, that is a bottle of Menage a Trois red wine. (One of my favorites, and not just because of it's suggestive name.) No cooking activity is complete without a glass of red wine.

Now I've inspired a culinary fiesta, if you will. Marya is off to buy tomatoes to make some salsa. (Perhaps I should have told her to pick up the goods for margaritas, as that would go along with the theme? Oh well.) And then it's time to enjoy Mary Poppins. Don't ask.

las locas cucarachas

I recently had to relive my cockroach nightmares. The disgusting little critters are just one of the disadvantages of living somewhere warm. There's only so much that can be done to avoid them. We all know the basic rules. Don't leave food out on the counter. Put your plates directly in the dishwasher. Religiously take out the garbage. Clean diligently! So on and so forth. Sometimes it just isn't enough.

In my last apartment I found a dead one underneath my bed a few days after moving in. That was my introduction into the wonderful world of roach carcass disposal. I suppose it could be considered being eased in since I managed to escape the horror of actually killing it, but it still wasn't a pleasurable experience.

Almost a year later, I am no closer to remaining calm in their presence. I can manage to stifle a scream or avoid ridiculous amounts of freakish dancing around when I find them outside. All bets are off when the suckers are 1)large, 2)alive, and 3)indoors though.

Marya fumigated the apartment earlier this week. Unbeknownst to me, but a couple of our little friends had been spotted cruising around the place lately. So we went chemical crazy and set off nine bombs. Woohoo! I expected it to be dead roach city when we returned six hours later, but no. No dead bodies. Nothing.

However, I was relaxing on the couch/my bed later in the evening and a huge one scurried out from under me, heading helter skelter toward the entertainment center. Cue me screaming bloody murder (although no actual words were intelligible) and running frantically toward the kitchen for the can of Raid. This brought everyone out from their respective hiding places in the apartment to determine what was causing me to act like Tonto on drugs. Luckily by the time they discovered the cause of my hysteria it was already dead (I hope so, with the amount of Raid I doused it with). Body retrieval is something I am still incapable of, so they were able to offer their services and finish the job.

I still keep the can of Raid at my side, just in case.

just a shout out to my crazy bus friend!

The insane Greek man from the bus apparently jinxed my complexion. I'm now breaking out like a hormone-crazed teenager. Thanks so much, dude!

a letter: aloha, japanese women...

I am concerned about you. Your behavior at the local Waikiki Starbucks each afternoon has convinced me that you're either crazy or mentally deficient (possibly both). Out of the two, I'd opt for crazy. I don't mean to single you out. My intentions are good. I tell you this because I have realized you might not be aware that your actions are in any way unusual. In order to make our coexistence a little easier (especially since we frequent the same caffeine mecca), I am willing to help.

Just a piece of advise to the young lady in front of me in line earlier this week, if you have some kind of alarming or unsightly skin condition please dress appropriately. People cannot be trusted not to stare. People are inherently rude. Long sleeves and pants may seem an extreme option in Hawaii, but there are lightweight material options (i.e. linen) that won't make you sweat to death. The rest of us (for the most part) dress for our body type. For you, this should include whatever funky scaly business you have going on.

To the older woman who sat down, albeit briefly, next to me this afternoon, why that seat? Most people have something called personal space. The outside seating at Starbucks is quite extensive. There are individual tables in order to provide some measure of privacy. I realize it appeared as though I was seated by myself at a large table that would accommodate the rest of your group, but the scattering of personal affects across from me indicated that I was not alone (heaven forbid someone take a bathroom break). Out of the other five chairs at the table was it necessary to sit in the one right beside mine? Especially since I was facing your direction already and was forced to change my position to avoid feeling completely weirded out by your intrusive presence? Instead of feeling weirded out, I had to settle for simply uncomfortable. Was it necessary to sit at my table at all considering I could easily spot other seating options a mere ten feet away? The situation didn't strike you as awkward? Your daughter certainly thought it was, or at least that is what I assume she was telling you when she discovered you there because you immediately moved over to the next table. I can't be sure though, since I don't speak Japanese. Hopefully she educated you further about American customs and how we get freaked out if you invade our personal bubble.

Most importantly, please stop feeding the birds, you crazy bitches!!! There are multiple signs posted in the area for your perusal at any time.



Not only that, but they are most kindly written in both English and...yes, JAPANESE! Thanks to your incompetence, or perhaps it's just a rebellious penchant for breaking rules, the entire patio area is like a Hitchcock movie revival. Both my friend and I have already been attacked by both the pigeons and sparrows. She got smacked in the face a few times by a pigeon and I got dive bombed by an innocent looking sparrow. Lord help you the day one of them poops on me.

Not only do you insist on feeding them, but then once they begin congregating around your little buffet you react in pure terror. Hello? Have you not put two and two together? This is why there's signs. You feed them and they will come. If you don't like it, then stop. But no, you keep doing it! And I'm not talking about one instance. This is a daily occurrence. Please stop.

That is all for now. I hope there's no hard feelings. I don't hate you. I admire your brave and curious ventures into the realm of fashion. I think the majority of your children are adorable and well-behaved, which is a rarity in this world, so kudos on that. Glad we could be straight-forward with each other and I'll see you tomorrow for coffee!

Peace and love,
Megan

michigan and hawaii, please don't get any ideas...

Before I begin, let me just state that I am now a huge advocate of the pedicure. Not only was it relaxing and therapeutic, but I no longer have to be ashamed of the condition of my toes after a vigorous work week. No longer will I be mistaken for white trash or a fourteen year old, at least not based on the appearance of my badly chipped polish. Both sets of nails are still holding up immaculately (knock on wood), although they've only had to endure one day of work so far.

Now that that's out of the way, let's talk about the state of California sending IOU's back as a tax refund, as though that's a valid form of payment. When your state government (perhaps if it was somewhere inconsequential like Kansas, or even a state with a shameful unemployment rate and a practically bankrupt car industry like dear old Michigan, but California?) is considering giving you an IOU, you know the economy is fucked. The worst part is the lack of shock. I'm not saying this was expected, but people (at least the ones I've talked with) have been estimating that "things will get worse before they get better." This vague prediction could cover many potential financial dilemmas and apparently IOU tax refunds is one of them.

The most unbelievable aspect is the fact that tax payers aren't allowed the same option. This recession affects our economy on every level. Yes, the state government of California is poor, but so are the citizens. If IOU's are a reality right now, shouldn't it be an option available to everyone?

P.S. I did not mean any harm against Kansas. I'm sure it's a lovely state and it probably contributes much to our country. It's just that it's boring. And no one even knows the Kansas City Royals exist. Sorry.

omg i totally got like a mani pedi today

I am not exactly the high maintenance type. I was what would have been most definitely categorized as a tomboy throughout my formative years. The harshly cold Michigan winters wrecked havoc on my unprotected adolescent lips, yet they remained painfully chapped thanks to my aversion to chapstick. (Ironically enough, this unexpectedly turned into an almost resolute dependence on the stuff practically the moment I hit sixteen. To this day, I have at least one on hand at all times.) Nail polish was a laughable product to me for years. I had no nails to speak of, both because I had no interest in having any and I simply was forbidden due to playing the piano (because of my long nail beds, my teacher would insist that I cut them as short as possible to prevent them from clicking on the keys). Gradually I became girlier as I grew older and finally, by the time I reached twenty, I finally had the desire to grow my nails long.

I did manage to have my first manicure at age thirteen, although it was about as exciting as watching the home shopping network to me (my Dad bought all us women one for Easter one year). Not only that, but the little Vietnamese tramp hacked my cuticles to shreds. She had to wait until the bleeding stopped to proceed on to actual polish. At the time I assumed this was just part of the process. You know, "no pain, no gain." Now I realize she had no idea what she was doing. No wonder I resisted all that was girly for years after. I associated it with brutal torture.

That being said, I do enjoy the occasional pampering nowadays. Since that first uninspiring visit to the nail shop on the corner, I have had a handful more manicures, most notably for Prom and the weddings I have stood up in. My annual Nordstrom spa massage (best Christmas present idea EVER!) usually renders me incapable of speech for at least an hour after. I spend the next 364 days anticipating my next visit.

Considering my tomboy past, I have never experienced a pedicure. I believe my sister originally intended my gift certificates for either this or a facial, but the idea of a massage was always much more inviting. I think it's something about people being up close and personal with my feet. Now, I have good personal hygiene. I spend 90% of my non-working time in slippers (flip flops) so my toes have to be presentable, but I do spend my work days entirely on my feet...in smelly hot work shoes...for sometimes up to 13 hours a day. So there are days where the condition of my lovely extremities are not quite as glorious.

Recently I have had several sources assure me that whatever the condition of my feet, the pedicurist has probably seen much worse. I was officially convinced. And today I found myself receiving a mani/pedi for the first time.





Pedicures are amazing!!! I am instantaneously in love with anyone who massages me, especially my feet. I was pretty much drooling with hedonistic satisfaction. I was lulled into a stupor by the sound of the mini jacuzzi bubbling away, the gentle hum of the vibrating massage chair, and the flowing singsong of the salon employees Chinese banter as they went about their business. And although my color palette was limited due to Buca's "no nail polish" policy, I truly appreciate the clean, simple, classy look my choice resulted in.

a canadian in waikiki: my adventures in public transportation

There was a crazy man on the Bus today. Damn public transportation, attracts the nutters every time.



I was running late for work. There wasn't a whole lot I could do about the situation, aside from calling the managers and informing them, until I actually arrived on the premises. However, it occurred to me once on the Bus that there was a general and unsightly lack of make-up on my face. In my hurried afternoon of coffee retrieval and laundry separation, I had forgotten to prepare my visage for the evening. As the majority of my income is based upon tips, I need to be somewhat aesthetically pleasing. Sad though it is, sometimes tips can suffer when one doesn't exactly look "put together."

So there I was applying make-up without a mirror. Not only was I taking on this delicate procedure while being jolted and jostled around Waikiki in a motorized deathtrap, but I was attempting to do it without being able to see what exactly I was doing to my face. Needless to say, I was in deep concentration. That is, until a heard a masculine and exotically accented voice behind me. This voice asked if I was Canadian.

Random much? I turned hesitantly and answered honestly.

"No, but my mother is."

I get that my appearance screams that I'm a white girl in practically every way, but what about me specifically marks me as someone Canadian (or in my case, as close to Canadian as you can be without actually being Canadian)? I was intrigued, until I realized this old man (edging dangerously towards his 70's and smelling distinctly of stale cigars) was talking nonsense. Apparently I put on my make-up like a Canadian.

What does that even mean?

I have spent my life surrounded my Canadian women. Okay, perhaps that statement is a little extreme. I did actually grow up in America, so chances are the majority of the women I've encountered have indeed been American. But my Mother, the woman that taught me how to wear make-up, and my Grandma, the woman that taught her how to wear make-up, have been undeniably influential throughout the years. And I have never been aware of a purely Canadian way of putting on rouge. I think I would have noticed by now.

Yet now that this man had opened the doors of conversation up, he felt the need to continue. Awesome. Clearly my frustrated and stressed out aura was not perceptible to crazy people.

He asked whether I lived here or was just visiting. I had already managed to communicate that I was going to be late for work. Obviously I would not be employed on the island if I were merely a visitor. He then ascertained that I had been living here for less than six months because he had never seen me on that bus route before. I politely corrected him (that logic doesn't even make sense!). He asked where I worked. I lied, for personal safety concerns, and said Old Spaghetti Factory. He asked if I was married. He then went on to tell me that he only noticed my make-up rituals because he was in photography and they often have to be aware of a subject's make-up. He then told me that I had a beautiful skin color, a pretty face, but that I had some problem areas around the jaw line. Was this a recent problem or just since I'd moved to the island?

Really??? Is this a socially acceptable way to converse in your homeland? Thanks asshole. Yes, I did break out a few days ago. Probably from stress related to having to interact with nut jobs like you.

At this point I was bordering on being flat out rude to the man, which I saw as no injustice since he was being rude and invasive to me. I was throwing looks toward my other fellow bus travelers that pleaded for help, but to no avail. Aside from a brief call to work to inform them of my eventual arrival, I had no choice but to deal with this man's barrage of interrogations and try to deter him as much as possible.

At some point he told me more about himself. His name. He's Greek, but he lived in Vancouver for some time (and wonders if this is where my dear Canadian mother hails from as well...hell, maybe they knew each other back in the day). He laments the turn toward the inanimate in the photography industry since the popularity of the internet (because people are so hesitant to have their photos available for the masses to view online for fear of stalking or worse).

Mind you, this man was only talking to me a total of ten minutes. He just had this much to say.

Once we finally came to my stop I just made a run for it and never looked back. I took a different route than usual, so as to appear that I was headed for Spaghetti Factory, but who knows if I was convincing or not. If I've been found out, I could be dead next week some time.

I'll start composing my will tomorrow. If there are any requests, feel free to throw them out there.

what doesn't kill us makes us stronger

If nothing else, my life is definitely far from boring. I am now a wandering nomad. I miraculously pulled off not being homeless. Although I have no where to call my own, I am not sleeping under the neighborhood bus stop, which is something to be grateful for. A lot has changed in the last month. My plans have had to be readjusted multiple times to the point where I'm not sure there is a plan any longer. I know I can't move back in my current financial state. My only other real options are to rent a car and commute from Ko Olina or use the next ten days to peruse craigslist for a temporary living situation (which is mildly disconcerting and uncomfortable, to say the least). Neither of which is completely satisfactory.

Oy vey.

P.S. Happy New Year.