christmas is assaulting my ears

No Pandora, I actually don't want to listen to Hillary Duff's Christmas hits, but thanks anyways.

if you like it then you should've put a ring on it

My left ring finger feels noticeably naked most of the time lately. I've been in long term relationships before and there was not even a second thought that something was missing. And I'm not referring to an age-induced belief or compulsion that I should be married by now. There's never been some kind of insistence on my getting married, from myself or others. Actually, my mother and I had a conversation years ago in which she insisted that there was no parental hopes for wedlock...just for happiness. If this happens to mean a marriage, then so be it, but I was told that I was to determine my own recipe for happiness. (As a side note, this is a rather awkward conversation to have with your parents when they've been happily married for over 25 years. I just kept wondering why she was so insistent on making this clear.) ‎
‎
The noticeable nudity of my left ring finger began a few months ago. It's like I can physically feel that something is missing, except that that something has never been there. I am a romantic, but am not unrealistic enough to automatically fall for this crap. However, it seems that from the moment I found the person that I would say yes to when asked that very special question, I have noted the absence on my left ring finger.

Perhaps it's a foreshadowing of the huge rock that will sit there one day?

Or maybe the beginning stage of Alien Hand Syndrome? Am I going to hell if I couldn't stop laughing while watching this?

nanowrimo has come and gone once again

It's really hard to write, whether it's just a blog or something more, when you're having a month or more long fit of self-loathing. Every word I put on a page just seems ridiculous and inadequate, as though I'm pretending I even have a right to be writing it in the first place. Perhaps if I have another glass of wine not only will the words will come spilling forth, but I'll actually approve of them.

Or maybe I'll just get drunk and fall asleep with my clothes on.

will someone please employ me before i die of boredom?

I could definitely never be content doing this housewife thing. Career woman? Maybe, maybe not. But I definitely need to have some sort of employment or a multitude of hobbies. I'm too ADD for this shit.

you learn something new every day

The vitamin supplement for riboflavin is indeed not b12 but b2.

need me some b12

Pretty sure I have a riboflavin deficiency. Either that or I've added hypochondriac to my list of neuroses.

you got me so crazy in love

So in love.

While I can't regret past relationships due to the learning experiences they provided, I wish I could at least have consolidated those experiences into a shorter span of time. I mean, why did it take me four and a half years to understand that marrying what's-his-name was the last thing I wanted? Wait, I know the answer to that. I didn't know any better cause it was my first serious relationship. I didn't have the necessary prior knowledge. Now that I've gathered it, I can recognize how good I have it. Definitely more confident.

Perfect happiness. No red flags. No anxiety over what will happen. He is all I want or need, end of story.

My opinions on relationships have changed too. I used to take pride in a no swearing policy. What's-his-face and I would fight, especially towards the end, but any time someone busted out an obscenity I would put a kibosh on it. I didn't believe that two people that loved each other needed to talk like that. And, to a certain extent, I still believe that's true. I'm not condoning rudeness, verbal abuse or blatant misogyny. But sometimes an f bomb slips out, especially if you tend to have a potty mouth. And if two people love each other, they know they love each other. They are confident in that love and aren't going to get all butthurt cause you swore at me, boohoo. I'm sure my reprimands mid-fight only escalated things between what's-his-face and me. Doesn't matter, there were loads of other issues. Those fights were wrought with miscommunications. And the entire relationship was plagued by an utter lack of communication and the big old fact that we didn't belong together.

The nearly two year disaster of a relationship with da kine should have never happened in the first place. The elephant in the room was that I was rarely attracted to him, if ever. Big problem that can never be over looked. But hey, I was adulated, which I confused with love. And at the time, I thought that's what I needed. At the time, I thought the fact that we NEVER fought was something rare and to be treasured. Surely, this is what healthy relationships are supposed to be like. No confrontation is very tempting for a nonconfrontational person. Then slowly I began to realize that no fighting EVER either means a) you don't care enough to put up a fight or b) you don't have enough self-respect to do so. For us, I was option a and he was option b. No bueno.

Now I am lucky enough to have a perfectly communicative partner...and by partner, I mean equal. We are a team. We fight occasionally, but we resolve quickly and there's never any lingering bad feelings haunting us. We're honest with each other, because that's only fair. And sometimes, when the situation is appropriate, an obscenity might slip out. Not to hurt the other person, cause you don't do that to people you love (or at least you shouldn't), but to keep each other in check. And at the end of the day, we are still always completely in love.

so long, farewell....

Borders is closing??? I am not emotionally prepared for this.



On one hand, I anticipate the awesome going-out-of-business sales over the next couple months. However, I have next to zero self-control when it comes to buying books. Dangerous? Perhaps. But if I'm going to buy the damn things why not get them on sale, right?

Also, where will I read for free now? Sometimes, like when I intentionally don't bring cash or plastic with me, I enjoy lingering for a few hours with a cup of coffee and reading a book FOR FREE. It's pretty awesome. Hawaii's hot, so you're in the air conditioning for one. If the book sucks, you can put it back and pick a new one. There's no residual guilt for spending $15 on something that will inevitably just gather dust on your bookshelf. Now what am I supposed to do? Go to the library? I've done it before, but the idea takes some getting used to. I am a book snob.

I'm not a fan of Barnes and Noble. Okay, that's a slight over-dramatization because I've got myself all fired up over this. I prefer Borders over Barnes and Noble. Borders membership is easier to maintain and provides you with more and much better deals than B&N's cheap ass "discounts." B&N throws around the Starbucks label in their coffee shop when they merely just brew Starbucks coffee. I have no clue why this aggravates me so, but it does. Their seating options are minimal and all but a few suck. Plus, for the majority of their seats you have to have a coffee in hand to sit there. Not that I usually don't have a coffee in hand and not that I'm exactly clear on Borders' cafe guidelines, but this just strikes me as unfriendly and money-grubbing. I have no reception in B&N, but I'm only speaking in reference to the one location. My most convincing and rational argument is that there have been at least half a dozen instances of entering B&N looking for something specific, because it is actually more convenient for me to get to than Borders, but they never have it. Crap, I say!

Plus, as a Michigander, I have a little pride that Borders started in A2. Maybe this affects my perception of both chains, but because I know it's origins, I view Borders more as the friendly liberal college town bookstore while I view B&N as the elitist east coast capitalistic bookstore. Michigan doesn't have much to boast about, so this is an unfortunate loss. Why couldn't Kid Rock have gone out of business instead?

snuggles

It's a strange life I lead right now. My desperate search for employment during the afternoon is balanced by the epitome of domesticity in the evening. It's like the whole Clark Kent/Superman dichotomy. I'm a driven and self-sufficient waitress by day, scouring all of Waikiki with resumes in hand, but by nightfall I am SuperHousewife(!!!). The cooking and cleaning are the least I can do with all this time on my hands. It's not as though I have the money to go out and play. And avoiding the boredom is a number one priority. Stir crazy doesn't even begin to define it. So cleaning is a decent alternative.

Funny how things have changed in the last two months. While I was miserable before because of life with da kine (I hate referring to ex's by name. My ex of four and a half years is still identified as "what's-his-face" in my circle of friends. I thought it would be appropriate if this latest moniker had a Hawaiian twist.) the rest of my life was stable and in control. In fact, I used everything else in my life to escape. Now I find myself in what has already become the most successful relationship of my adult life (knock on wood...not that previous relationships offer that much competition) and everything else has gone to shit. No exaggeration. Just when things seem bad, my Mom calls telling me my Grandma has two weeks to live...at most. Come on! Give a girl a break.

I'm not complaining. I've generally had it easy. And it's better than having absolutely everything in life suck. But it's dangerous. Avoiding your shitty living situation by working extra shifts makes you money, money you can use to go out with friends. Or more ideally, but not as satisfying, money you can use to save up and move on with. Avoiding your life falling apart by staying in bed to snuggle with your amazing boyfriend, while seemingly the only option at the time, does not actually accomplish anything.

here beginneth the job hunt

I apologize for disappearing for the last two months. It was completely unintentional. You see, I fell in love.

That tends to be rather distracting.

Oh, I also just got fired from Auntie Pasto's. If anyone can inform me of what exactly constitutes as wrongful termination, I would appreciate it. I'd prefer not to look like an ass when I go down to the Department of Labor.

More on that to come...

arrivederci mi famiglia

Alas, after nine years I say farewell to Buca on Sunday. For good this time. I mean it.

It's rather bittersweet, but there's no hesitation.

torn just like poor natalie imbruglia

One of my biggest beefs with Hawaii is how transient so many people are here. People tend to largely fall into one of two categories. Either you're born and raised here in the islands, and therefore because of family ties, you plan on living in Hawaii for the rest of your life. Or you move from the mainland, and despite how engrossed you become with the culture and the lifestyle, you eventually move back (some more willingly than others) home, or within some vicinity of home. There are other instances, but when you're surrounded by these situations constantly it seems a bit...well, constant.

This attributes to my desire to move. I hate to fall into one of the two stereotypes, but it's difficult making close connections only to come in second best to an extended ohana or, worse, witness close friends moving after just discovering a kindred spirit.

When someone declares they're moving back to the mainland we initially tend to berate them for ditching the island, when in reality the rest of us mainlanders will readily admit to planning the same move at some point. Although it seems hypocritical, it's not really. Just proves how torn we all are.

In the last month I've found it increasingly harder to leave Hawaii. Whether this is because August is looming a little closer or because I have a different perspective after getting out of a shitty and burdensome relationship...I don't know. Maybe both? I've reverted back to tourist mode, taking cheesy up-close pictures of a hibiscus flower or two. I suppose I would be concerned if I was indifferent about leaving, but it gives me reason to pause. My reasons for leaving are resolute, but I still wonder if I'm not yet done here.

a letter: dear taxi man from this evening

You are officially the worst cab driver I have ever had. Upon realizing your confusion after informing you of my destination, I gave you clear instructions as to your next two turns. Very simple. There was a reason why I gave those instructions...so I could get home faster and, therefore, cheaper. Instead, you decided to ignore me and take the freaking long way, thus increasing my fare and decreasing your tip. I'm not along for a joy ride, buddy. I'm tired and cranky after a double. Listen to the directions next time.

After making it on to Keeaumoku you insisted on driving 20mph and stopping for every red light you could manage to locate. Do you think you're being sly? You think I won't notice? Do you need me to show you how the gas pedal works?

And then when crossing the overpass you get in the left lane and turn your blinker on, as if we're getting on the H-1. Honestly, do you even have your driver's license? What part of "Makiki" don't you understand? It was a simple mile away, why did you think we'd be getting on the freeway?

Where did you think we were going???

I'm sorry I gave you a crappy tip, but you really suck. Perhaps you should get a new job.

laundry wench

Today was one of those days where I'm completely baffled by how surprised the (ex)boyfriend was by the break-up. Honestly, was that his idea of a happy little relationship? Everything was peachy keen in his eyes? It's sad, really. He is just on a different page than me. Or possibly even a different book.

Now that we're in the post-relationship phase I'm still dealing with a lot of the same frustrations that drove me to end it. (And he still doesn't get it.) Should I still be thanklessly doing his laundry? At $2.50 per load, it makes no sense to divide laundry duties. Yet, one shouldn't have to handle someone else's dirty underwear unless they're blood related or sleeping together. It's not the actual laundry doing that I mind, but his attitude toward it all. No concern whatsoever. As if he still considers it my job. Or thinks there's a laundry fairy that just appears with clean undies.

Needless to say, these last couple months can't go by fast enough.

hau'oli pakoa

Blah, I have not done anything impressive with my day off. Yes, there was a minor training meeting at Auntie Pasto's, but 1)it was mandatory and 2) there was wine involved so I feel as though that negates the productiveness of an entire two hour meeting. This place is definitely no Buca. The owner supplied us with a bottle and a half of Cupcake chardonnay for 5 people. Oh, and deliciously cheesy pasta concoctions for lunch.

My gift of a Friday night off last night lacked progress as well. (God bless the two sane Buca managers for saving me from almost certain employment hell this week.) Actually, that might just be my interpretation since I did not fulfill exactly what I had planned. I have to keep reminding myself life does not follow my plan. Obviously, ha. And there is something to be said for relaxation after working doubles. Plus, I picked up a morning shift tomorrow, making it an Easter Sunday double. Gross, but productive indeed. And that relieves me from being too hard on myself on Monday. Perfect.

I'm going to be old and responsible and head to bed now so I can afford to wake up in time to get coffee and breakfast early. Go me.

By the way, it's officially Easter. Hau'oli Pakoa.

first class

Found last week on the streets of Honolulu...



Really?

If you're naming your bar "First Class," it's clearly going to be a swanky joint.

lady chatterly's lover

My next literary conquest? D.H. Lawrence.

I found myself helpless in Barnes and Noble last week, mainly because I justified any purchases as a reward for having such a productive day off.

In addition to purchasing the memoir of a witty North Carolinian living in NYC (I Totally Meant to Do That), I also thought it about time to venture into some real literature. Thankfully, the more classical literature is fairly cheap. I suppose either because 1)the classics are produced in mass quantities or 2)the authors are no longer alive to care about dividends.



I'm a chapter in and I have zero previous knowledge, but I just knew that it had been banned in the US and UK for years since it's 1928 publication. So there's obvious reasons for interest. Obviously obscenity standards were stricter back then, but still...why ban it?

oh canada, my home and just one of my native lands?

Soooooooooooooooooooo when I was home for Christmas one of my Canadian relatives informed me that I now have dual citizenship.



Yes, I am confused as well.

I'm guessing Canada has recently changed it's laws surrounding citizenship, as I have never heard about this until now. And you would think I would have. Someone would have said something or it would have been in the news. I mean, I grew up a half an hour's drive to the border.

My Mom told me years ago that had my sister or I been a boy she would have made the drive across the border to give birth in order for us to have dual citizenship. She wanted us to be able to avoid a draft, if needed. Since we were female that drive was never made and, well...here I am. But apparently now all one needs is a Canadian mother? What if she were to become a US citizen, as she's contemplated for years? What would that mean for me? Would I lose my duality?

I am not completely sure that this is even true. I've seen no proof. I don't know what would constitute proof for me, short of the Queen herself notifying me of my status. Or maybe a mountie giving me a heads up, not that they're exactly roaming the streets of Sarnia. Nor am I aware of the exact ramifications of such a possibility. Does it mean I could move there without the hassle of extensive paperwork? Not that I'm dying to take up residence in the land of slow drivers and fashion that's a decade late. (I say that with love.)

Perhaps I should research this more.

lucy

Meet my cat. Lucy. The first pet I've had on my own.



She'll be 2 years old this summer. Although she still has kittenish moments, she has matured since I got her in August. She's also grown from petite kitten to fatty mcfatterson, but now she's just comfortably chubby. I had to adjust her eating regime in order not to induce a premature heart attack. She's just as content in her plain old chubby state.

She has a foot fetish. This ranges from her attacking your feet during the middle of the night to her licking/biting them during your nightly TV rituals. Sometimes she just likes to sit next to your feet. She just likes feet. I don't ask questions.

She likes bleach. I've grown up owning cats and this was a new one for even me, but apparently a lot of cats are attracted to the ammonia as if it were catnip (which, by the way, she couldn't care less about). If I am cleaning the kitchen or bathroom I have to keep an eye on her. She'll come snooping around. Once I deter her, she'll proceed to roll around the floor in pure pleasure like a shameless hussy. Whore.

She's a piggy. I love her for it. Her favorite is beef in gravy. Or anything in gravy, for that matter.

She is not declawed, which is a new one for me. I have perfected the art of cutting her nails. I like to look at it as a bonding experience. She's definitely more trusting than when I first attempted. We have a cheap armchair (bought it off a friend for $25) that holds our mail and miscellaneous crap. She has clawed it to shreds, but the rest of the furniture has been saved, for the most part. A little squirt from the spray bottle deters her from the rest.

She likes open windows and cool tile, pony tails and twist ties.

She's also racist. She has had a minor peeing problem in the past (*crosses fingers*), but this only pertained to black items (i.e. black laptop bag, black duffel bag, black backpack, black t-shirt). I'm hoping it was only due to her nerves after the move from the humane society to the apartment, a whopping two miles, but I immediately noticed her discretion when it came to my more racially diverse belongings. Perhaps I shall have to educate her on the finer points of acceptance and civil rights?

the list

Must Haves
He must chew with his mouth closed. I should not have to be disgusted when watching you eat. I should be able to take you out in public. I learned manners. So should you.

He has to have comparable drinking habits. I'm Irish. I like my drinking, most of the time. I love red wine. So if I'm saying you drink too much, then you drink too much. And alcoholism holds a part in my family's history, so I'm not fucking around.

He has to want kids.

He has to like pets.

He has to be taller than me, preferably above 6 foot. Sorry, I'm a woman. And a woman should be able to wear heels and not have to slouch.

He has to have personal hygiene. You're a grown ass man, so if you don't shower you smell like....well, ass. Accept this. Brush your teeth or I won't kiss you. Wear deodorant or I won't want to be around you. Is this too much to ask?

He has to have a college education. And I'm not talking about an online degree. It doesn't matter who is smarter, but I need you to at least be on the same playing field.

He has to have passion. About something...anything.

He has to be financially responsible. I'm not asking that you have college funds for your nonexistent children, but I shouldn't have to balance your checkbook for you.

He preferably has some Irish and/or Scottish blood, but it is not required. If you have an accent I will remove my clothes immediately. Take me, I am yours.

He's adventurous and open. No, I'm not just addressing the bedroom. That just goes without saying. Who cares if you've never eaten Greek food before or you haven't ice skated since you were in grade school? Being in a long term relationship means spicing it up now and then. This includes new activities and hobbies. There is more to life than sitting in front of the TV.

He likes to do anything. I can have fun doing pretty much anything, except when I'm paired with the world's most snore worthy person. Having fun is easy. I shouldn't have to teach you how.

He has to enjoy cooking to some degree, or at least be open to being my sous chef. You don't have to be a top chef contender, but occasional assistance in the kitchen is needed.

He has to be able to locate Libya on a map. I'm sick of explaining every current event and pop culture reference. I don't expect a genius. I don't want to debate every last detail of politics. However, if we're bombing a country and it's been in the news for months, I shouldn't have to direct you to what continent you can find it in. I shouldn't have to explain half of the jokes in a Family Guy episode for God's sake.

He cleans up after himself. I am not your mother. You don't have to be an anal retentive clean freak. That's a bit much. If you use something, put it back when you're done. If you get something dirty, clean it up. Simple rules.

He has to be approximately the same age as me, or possibly older.

He is a man, not a boy. You'd think I would have covered this in the previous note. Alas, men's age does not directly correlate with their maturity level.

He knows that chivalry is not dead, but acknowledges that I can take care of myself.



Have Nots
No smoking. EVER. This is first and foremost, kinda like a cardinal rule. Let's just say I learned my lesson. No more compromising.

No hard drugs. Yes, I bent the rules a little here in Hawaii with the happy grass. I don't regret it and I'm certainly no hypocrite, but I have my standards goddamn it.

No earrings, plugs or otherwise. Stop trying to be cool. You're not impressing anyone.

No homophobes. My best friend just came out, or at least 60% of him did. I have two other gay best friends, all three from different times in my life. You can argue the finer points of the pros and cons of gay marriage, but you can't be a hater. And you may have to hang out with them.

No skeet shooting mothers. If I'm attending Christmas at your house and your mom receives a skeet shooting rifle, I am so gone.

No whining. I'm afraid this may eliminate the entire male species, but I'm going out on a limb here. Change your tampon and grow a pair! No one likes a whiner. It's unattractive and emasculating.

No hocking loogies. It's gross and uncouth.

No mama's boys.

No singing Bohemian Rhapsody (or any other nearly 8 minute long songs) at karaoke.

No skull t-shirts.

No Ed Hardy anything.

No small penises.

No flashing your goods around like a gay prostitute. Women do not find this enticing. Really unattractive.

me single; you confused

Guess what came in my mailbox today???????? A package.

Guess what was in the package???? The power cord for my laptop, thank the Lord. That was a looooooong two weeks without technology. But alas, sanity has been restored.

Remember the time I thought I was single? Apparently my life can't be that simple. A conversation in which we establish that I no longer have feelings for him only leads to him (desperately) inviting me to join him in the shower over a week later. When you're occupying the same tiny one bedroom apartment and you work together, it's hard to establish boundaries. Yet I still find myself left to establish the obvious. Like the fact that he won't be moving back to Michigan with me. Silly me, I thought that one was beyond explanation.

Me moving. You stay.

Perhaps speaking like Tanto would help me in this situation?

sparks may fly

So the power cord for my laptop is broken, hence my absence of late. I just ordered a new one off of ebay.

Oh, and I think I'm finally single? More on that later.

daddy dearest

Every Valentine's Day I receive a package from my Dad. Every year since I can remember, even stuck out here in the middle of the Pacific, it arrives around the 14th. He made it very clear to my sister and I, when we were too young to yet understand the trials and troubles of life and love, that he would always be our valentine...no matter what. Yes, she gets a box of treats as well, even though she's long married. I suppose the whole mentality is that a father's love can never disappear or dull like romance. My Dad's a very sweet man.

He's gotten better throughout the years. My Mom claims that, although she may occasionally see these packages, she does not play a role in the choosing or purchasing. I've never really interrogated my sister on the contents of her package, but I'd have to assume it's as personalized as mine. Being aware of our shared affinity for dark chocolate, he's always sure to include something sweet in this category. This year it was a little miracle from one of my favorites, Ghirardelli:



Normally I don't like anything contaminating my pure dark chocolate, but these two flavors are so harmonious I can't help myself. When you add in my requisite glass of Cabernet, it's a trifecta of flavor.

glassworts and such

Top Chef: All Stars has officially got me entirely too personally invested in a reality TV show. Dude, Dale got eliminated last week and it killed me! I mean, more than it should. Obviously I'm attached to some of the contestants already since they're all from previous seasons. I can't help be biased based on former performances, but some of my opinions have altered throughout the season. Still love Dale though! Even more so since he's got his anger at least somewhat under control, although he wouldn't be Dale unless he lost it once in a while.

So stunned by this weeks decision, even more than last week. No one got eliminated!!! We're all fucking going to the Bahamas! Colicchio does have a heart after all. How could they after absolutely raving about all five dishes? I mean, I was really racking my brains trying to figure it out, but there was not even a hint of negativity about anything that was served. You can't eliminate merely because your sentimental family recipe was only awesome instead of spectacular. So dick how they faked poor Richard out though. His face was ashen. It's all so life and death for him. I thought he was going to poop himself on national TV when Padma started telling him to pack his knives.

I think he hated her for a split second before it sunk in that he wasn't going home.

yes you cayenne!

Damn you Food Network! Now I feel like this Queen City Cayenne ice cream is a must-try. Only I'm not going to pay almost $50 (plus shipping) to do so. After reading up, I realize it's gourmet ice cream, but come on. Not only that, but I'm not interested in ordering 4 or 9 pints.

Soooooooooooooo I guess I'll have to wait until I move back to Michigan. Then I can make a trek across the border.

Yes, ice cream is worth braving the shithole that is Ohio.

busy bee

Mondays, I love you dearly. You are mine to do with as I please. I never pick up a shift. I never feel obligated to go along with someone else's plans, or any plan for that matter. I never feel obligated to do anything...period. Sometimes I even go incommunicado. No matter what, relaxation is a requirement after the chaos of the weekend...this weekend especially.

Tiara Lynn got married on Saturday. The first Mary to be a Mrs. Mary. Amber and Jen were able to come in from the mainland for the weekend in order to celebrate the festivities. Awesome, but unfortunately I couldn't afford to take off an entire weekend from work in order to play. Taking a Saturday off was as much as my budget allows. It's that time of the month where rent rears it's ugly head.

This whole last week has been nuts. I had plans on all my days off and then some. And despite the lingering vog (at least until Tuesday), I was determined to have a life again. Last Monday, Hannah and I stopped by Lulu's for industry night (half off the entire menu!) to meet up with her two girlfriends, who I had never met. It was all very Sex in the City, without the stuffy Manhattan connotations. (I'm possibly only saying that out of envy.) We did have drinks and talk about men though. No, there weren't cosmos and none of us are really whoring around like Kim Cattrall, but you get the point. Then she and I headed downtown to O'Tooles for some much-needed Mike Love therapy.



He is just ridiculously talented. I'm not even much for the reggae or jawaiian genres, but I guess I don't classify him as anything. And he makes my heart happy, which is a much needed reprieve lately. Just reminds me that there is life beyond a crappy relationship.

Precious and I had our weekly beach date on Wednesday. I love the ritual of it. I like having a regular reminder that I actually live in Hawaii. Plus, there's the obvious girl talk time while her kids are playing. And the boys are my buddies too. It's like they're my little dates.

Thursday she and I ventured out shopping for appropriate wedding outfits. I had my dress already, thanks to a spontaneous $30 deal at Ross. But the shoes and accessories were a mystery to my fashion-challenged mind. Thanks to Precious' patience and my persistence, I found these:



My glorious 1940's Hollywood inspired lantern shoes! Yes, we named them lantern shoes. And they were a hit! My favorite pair of heels ever. I was very proud of the ensemble I acquired for a hundred dollars. I felt like a lady and that is money well spent.

Saturday's festivities began early. Looking like a lady takes preparation. And that sucks when you have to be at the Hale Koa in Waikiki by 10:30am. Since the family is Mormon, we all anticipated a dry wedding. (An oxymoron, in my mind.) So most of us planned on meeting up early to sneak in a few mimosas. Surprisingly, this did not happen. Come to find out that, even on a Saturday, nobody serves that early. Damn them for making us feel like alcoholics!

The hotel bar across the hall opened it's doors at 11am so we discreetly made our way over there promptly at 11:01am. It was easy considering our tables were located within a foot of the exit. (Was this intentional? Had Tiara predicted our desire for booze?) So there we were doing Patron shots before noon on an empty stomach and in an empty hotel bar. Tasteful and appropriate, as always.

The wedding reception itself was entertaining on all levels. Crazy fucking Samoans! As a people, they are insane. Tiara's family is a little bit nuts as well, but it's all in good fun. The Mormons may not drink, but the Samoans can throw a party! If there was alcohol involved there may have been a mosh pit at some point. Even the most mundane and traditional wedding moments were ridden with "chee-hoos" from the fired up audience. And they have some mad dancing skills involving wriggling around on the floor and slapping it. Damn, I wish I took video. All in all, it made me feel extremely white lol. Actually, I think I may have been the only white person there (excluding Buca folk). Not an unfamiliar sensation to have in Hawaii.

After the party, subsequent photos, and goodbyes, we set out to find the after party. Or rather, create our own. The night took us many places. Eventually it was just Wheeler, Amber and I left to explore the evening. The others either had not requested off work or had tickets to the Nas concert at Kaka'ako. The boyfriend just randomly headed home at one point, deciding that he had had enough. The girls and I headed down to the Maile Sky Court, which was where Amber was staying. Conveniently, that is also where Deep End is located and, although Marya wasn't working, she was there as a guest. After meeting her current man, a stand-in for Dann-o on Hawaii Five-O (and not shy about advertising so) and having a quick drink, we headed downtown for 80's night at Bar 35. I normally hate downtown, but I do love 80's music, only they were having 40's night during 80's night? Understand, they hadn't canceled 80's night. The hits of the 80's were still playing, only they were interspersed with a few Big Band hits. And then there were a bunch of girls decked out in retro garb, all vying for the best 40's costume. (I think our cocktail waitress was confused, as she was dressed as a flapper and informed us that it was the Roaring Twenties. Epic failure on her part.) It was amusing. I had French raspberry beer of some sort. A strange and new (drunk) choice on my part, but it was delicious. Not overpowering in sweetness, but not completely beer-ish either.

I called it a night fairly early and rather suddenly. I recall searching for the girls after using the lavatory, but just ended up calling them to let them know I was taking a cab home. Sometimes you just know when to call it quits.

Sunday I woke up hungover and then continued to make a few bad life choices lol. Earlier in the week a few of us had planned to go on a booze cruise before work. Sounds wise, yes? Once I woke up and felt the extent of my hangover I rethought my decision. On one hand, it was my last chance to hang out with Amber and Wheeler before their departure. On the other hand, it's a booze cruise before work...at 11:30am nonetheless. Jillian and I texted and both agreed we should decline the opportunity, until the peer pressure began. So I went last minute.

Worst. Idea. Ever.

Since I left it to the last minute I had nothing in my stomach, which was still pretty queasy from drinking the entire previous day. Plus mornings don't sit well with me in the first place. Most pointless booze cruise ever. Amber didn't even go, as she had stayed out drinking until 4am. I had barely started sipping my second drink when I started to feel my stomach toss and turn, much like the ocean was doing merely feet from where I was seated. With just a second's warning I threw up vodka cranberry over the side of the catamaran. Embarrassing much? I am of hearty nautical stock. I love the water. My life revolved around boats due to my father's business and hobbies. I have never experienced motion sickness while on a boat of any shape or size. And it takes A LOT of booze to make me throw up. So yes, it was shameful. But I immediately felt better, especially when Erika gifted me with a granola bar from her purse. Instant cure. I stopped drinking for the most part and tried my best to have fun, the highlight being the dip in the ocean. Oh, except the part when my foot slipped when jumping off the boat. While my dive was not as painful as a belly flop, it was almost as close in gracefulness. I discovered later that I had actually sliced my baby toe open during this stunt. It's not too sore though.

Post-booze cruise we required sustenance. We then proceeded to make a spectacle out of ourselves at Cheesecake Factory, some of us more than others. Let's just say that one of our group will not be welcomed back to the establishment for quite some time.

Obviously a busy, busy week. Memorable, I suppose, but I'm okay with not repeating it for a while. For now I'll just lay low, save my money, and recuperate.

I'm afraid to see some of the pictures that may come out of the woodwork.

screw the VOG!!!

I've been sick over a week now. Last weekend was awful. I demanded Saturday off work, much to my managers disapproval, however brief. And I couldn't even pick up V-day, even though I was offered $40 just to do so. I'm a whore for easy money (although not literally), so that attests to how ill I really felt. Now I'm much improved, or at least know I'm not going to die, but this sinus hell is now lingering over a week. I'm better, but I still sound disgusting. And every morning I still feel like shit.

At this point I can't tell whether I'm feeling the affects of the vog or if I have an out of control sinus infection. Having lived in Hawaii for three years I know what's up with vog, but this is the most extreme it's ever affected me. Yet, this extreme of a sinus infection is also bizarre. I mean, I had a minor flu of the respiratory kind. And now I wish someone would drill into my sinus cavity and drain my head of all fluids, useful or other sort. Maybe it's a slow recovery but the vog isn't helping? Either way I'm miserable. MISERABLE.

I'm somewhat serious about the whole tapping into my sinus cavity idea. Sounds like pure relief right now, but I imagine that would cause some serious medical problems.

happy bitter and sexually repressed day

You know what's a really great idea? Watching a cavalcade of romantic comedies when you're currently unhappy in your relationship. Oh, and you're home alone sick on Valentine's Day. Superb idea.

First up was Letters to Juliet, which I hadn't seen before. I like Amanda Seyfried, in a little girl crush kind of way, since Mamma Mia. The movie itself was alright. Just makes me want to visit Italy.

Next was P.S. I Love You, which I have seen before. Actually, I read the book years ago. I always wonder why I like it so much, but I know the answers. There's the Gerard Butler factor. I want that man. Or maybe just as he is in that role. Goddamn he's sexy. Plus, it's the only movie I've ever watched where I find Hilary Swank pleasurable to watch. I'm not commenting on her acting abilities in the slightest. But she's actually feminine and endearing in this movie and that's a rarity. Then there's the Irish factor: the accents, the music, the scenery, the warm familiarity I've always felt with my Irish ancestry. Screw Italy, I need to visit Ireland.

i am ze master of ze french cuisine

Cassoulet is an intimidating endeavor.

This recipe was advertised to me as a soup by my mother. A particular soup, in fact, that we all fondly remember my Dad making many moons ago. And while there are definite similarities, it is not a soup. Silly Mom.



Okay, so it's rather soup looking while in the process, but the picture is deceiving.

Here is the recipe:

Field Made Cassoulet
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1/4 cup flour
4 bone-in chicken thighs
2 andouille sausages (about 1 pound), cut into 1-inch pieces
1 carrot, sliced
1 onion, chopped
1 celery rib, chopped
3 garlic cloves, chopped fine
1/4 cup red wine
1 and 1/2 tsp. dried thyme
pepper
2 12 oz. cans cannellini beans

Heat olive oil in stew pot. Dredge the chicken in the flour and place in the pot and brown on all sides. Remove and set aside. Add sausages, carrot, onion, celery and garlic to the pot and saute until sausage is lightly browned and onion is translucent, about 10 to 12 minutes. Add wine, thyme, pepper, cannellini beans, and stir thoroughly. Lay the chicken atop the mixture and press down until almost covered. Cover the pot and set on low. Let simmer, checking occasionally for about an hour.


Okay, a few notes. Upon my Dad's recommendation, I added Cajun seasoning to my flour before dredging, just to add a little pizazz. As for the sausage, if you can't find andouille, find one with a similar flavor. I used chorizo. Now, cooking with wine is a new adventure for me. I asked my Dad what he used and he said cooking wine. However, neither of my parents are winos like me. If I wouldn't drink it, I'm not going to cook with it. So I used Menage a Trois. Oh, and when I added my chicken, I also added the crispy pieces of skin and other chicken drippings, adding more flavor. I let it cook for several hours instead of just one, theorizing that it would make the chicken more tender. Plus, I'm always paranoid when cooking chicken. But it did make it more tender.

The result?



More stew than soup, cassoulet is rustic and simple, while sounding delightfully French. It was deeeeelicious! Le magnifique!

they're half pajama, half jeans!

I'm intrigued by pajama jeans.



I've never called on an infomercial before. Hell, Andy and I used to mock them for hours into the night, mainly for the atrocious acting. And, let's be honest, the pajama jeans are most likely a bad idea. It's hard to tell without having them in my hands, but I'm sure the fabric is questionable. And I'm almost positive they're meant for skinny girls. I've never been one to order clothes online or through a catalog. You can't take the chance when you've got an ass like mine. I always have to try something on first.

Yet I really want a pair.

Price is another concern. I don't spend $40 on any one item of clothing, unless it's for a special occasion. Or maybe a really nice pair of black dress pants, in which case I'd get more than $40 use out of them. Jeans that are half pajamas though? No. Even my Lucky jeans were on sale at Nordstrom rack for $30.

i've got a preposition for you...

My growing suspicion is that I'm calling my Mom too much. Or at least I'm suspecting she thinks I am. How much is too much when you're approaching 30 and having a life crisis? I can't keep inundating my friends here with all my issues. That seems selfish and unfair. Plus, it's just redundant. My problems remain constant and there's nothing worse than a broken record. My friends back home are too far away to fill in on every detail, so they just end up lost and disinterested. And who else can you call when absolutely bored while walking to work? Okay, probably a lot of people.

I need to stop. Hopefully the blogging of late will fill my need to get these things off my chest.

And now, time for bed. I think I'm too tired to be writing at the moment. I've attempted sentence after sentence, all ending with prepositions. Not my finest literary moment. I'll probably edit the hell out of this tomorrow.

Goodnight all!

craniati is an enigma

Craniati is kicking my ass! And also draining the battery on my Droid nightly.



If you haven't played, beware. It's like a road rally for your smartphone, including the entire love/hate affair. Playing just makes me angry and self-loathing, but I can't stop! It's like crack. And the self-satisfaction only feeds the hunger to play more.

I just don't understand how I'm expected to play it solely on my phone. The amount of internet research and scouring page after page of Google is mind-numbing in and of itself, but on my phone?

This man must be brilliant.

home is where the heart is

As an adult I have yet to find a suitable living situation. Forget trying to attain that "home" feeling. I used to think that's what it was all about, that contentedness that most of us have under the abode of our childhood. Now I realize that probably develops with time. So what it's really all about is just finding the place that has more in the pro column than the con.

Hawaii has been a struggle in that respect. Satan's condo, which I shared with Michael for the better part of a year, was never even in the running. Marya's was clearly tentative from the get go, although there was some level of comfort. Kailua had the neighbor's very verbal wiener dog (a generous 8 feet from my bedroom window) and the naked amazonian roommate from Minnesota (who still hasn't returned my deposit) as the obvious cons. No pros could have saved the situation. Not to mention the commute, which is now vitally important since the demise of the Honda.

Here in Makiki, life is a bit simpler. The apartment complex was pet friendly, which was the main draw. Sacrifices were made in various departments. Size, laundry, dishwasher, size, laundry, modern appliances. It's clean! I was finally able to adopt my own cat for the first time in my adult life. You will learn more about Lucy later. Because of the pet friendly nature of the building, we are practically living in a kennel. I've seen one other cat, otherwise we are in dog city. Two doors down there are two maniacal chihuahuas, or some other ugly rat dog breed. They rarely shut up. It's the price I pay. I also suspect that apartment of the constant ganja, although I think there are several culprits. Not that I care, at least not here in Hawaii.

On the other side are the lesbians. They're an awkward lesbian couple. I thought the ginger was a really unfortunate pear-shaped man at first, completely undeserving of the cute hapa chick. Oh no, she's just a really unfortunate pear-shaped woman. They are a downright funky couple. Super nice, but they have inappropriately timed and high-pitch sex. It sounds like a cross between a monkey and the Chiquita banana woman. And I'm guessing it's not the ginger making those noises. The walls are thin and at 7am there's not much else happening to block out the noise.

Who has wild monkey sex at 7am that often?

Other than that, there's just the surfers occupying the house in the back. They're generally courteous, but occasionally they'll start sanding down the boards before noon. Not any worse than the construction or lawn maintenance that takes place each month. Still, I wouldn't mind finding somewhere where I'm willing to have it be more permanent. I'm not implying that most people go without their grievances. It just seems like the pros should outweigh the cons if you're going to make somewhere a long term residence?

i whip my hair back and forth

I thought you should just know. I actually did whip my hair back and forth in honor of this song tonight. Because I forgot that Will Smith's daughter sang it.

Good for her.

viva miami

I hate to be a slave to the TV. If I'm bored and too lazy to find anything original to occupy my time I can generally find something inane on the screen to amuse me. At least for 30 minutes. I have a short attention span. Otherwise I prefer to use the DVR. I used to think that this was for people who like the television a bit too much, but now I realize that it really allows you to get to the point. There are shows I want to watch and I'm not wasting my time on the rest of the fluff. Also, I'm not letting my life revolve around a TV schedule. "Omg, no I can't go out to dinner on Thursday. I don't care if it is your birthday, the Office season premiere is on!" Rather, my shows can be watched whenever my schedule allows. Perfect. And I end up watching TV much less.

Also, I have Netflix. A much better deal than Blockbuster. I usually only let myself get hooked on one show at a time. Recommendations are taken seriously, but don't automatically qualify for immediate viewings. The more recommendations the better. And your past recommendations affect how seriously I take you. There's a waiting list. And anything that makes it to the final viewing is pretty much worth the wait. (In the past, these shows included Sex and the City, Grey's Anatomy, and Weeds. Weeds being the ultimate favorite. Grey's Anatomy had some hit and miss seasons. All in all, good shows. All viewed seasons after they debuted.) My newest venture is Dexter.



Almost finished with season one and I love it. No spoilers, but as usual, Showtime produces some creative and original shows with great writing, acting, and subtle humor. I'm hooked.

Next up I think is Modern Family. Any opinions?

complex complexion

Today marks the first time I've been able to visit the beach since my wintry vacation a whole month ago. And it was wonderful.

Obviously it sucks not making the most out of the advantages of living in Hawaii. I would be a total beach bum if I could. I would hike and see everything I could, taking plenty of memorable photos along the way. However, the Honda died shortly after moving to the Makiki apartment in August. Which pretty much blows. The safety check is long expired and the radiator won't allow us to make it any further than Foodland. Since then I've relied on my trusty bike, that is, until someone stole one of my bike pedals while it was chained up at Buca. Just one. Mind you, this bike pedal is not new or made of precious metal. It's boring and black and old. Sounds like the job of a crackhead to me. It's probably been incorporated into one of their crazy grocery carts, never to see the light of day again. This happened shortly before I left for vacation and I have yet to get it fixed. In the meantime, the daily walks have done me good. But getting to the beach is a bit more challenging. I live pretty deep in Makiki. And I'm picky about my beaches.

I had actually been putting off a beach trip due to a recent dermatology scare. Skin cancer is a bit genetic for me, plus I'm fairer than most in my family so add a little extra crispy to my fry. After I got the all clear last week I was ready to lotion up and get to the beach. Today Preciosa and I headed to Kaimanas with the boys.



Love this beach. Perfect for swimming. The parking sucks at times, but it's better than the rest of Waikiki. Plus you don't have to deal with the massive influx of tourists. Absolutely loved going to the beach with kids! It just gives you a new perspective. I remembered being their age and not wanting to get out of the water...ever. There was always something to do or a new game to be invented. Plus they're just cute and well-behaved boys. She offered to sell them to me.

After losing my sunscreen during the Goat Island incident last November, I had to borrow Preciosa's. Being a whitey is rough. I was especially diligent about sunscreen after my dermatologist's lecture, but I always miss some random area on my body. For most people, this is not a problem. For me, my skin decides to turn the color of a tomato after minimal exposure. And it's never the same place. So now half of my right thigh is bright red, because that is the one area that was not covered by our umbrella and received sunscreen too late.

You just can't win. I'm starting to think there's some validity in my dermatologist asking, "Just why did you move to Hawaii with your complexion?"

As if my complexion was something I could have left behind.

feels like forever

I moved to Hawaii three years ago today. That's all. I don't know if it's merely a fact or something to really dwell on, but there it is...

snownami 2011

Totally jealous of ThunderSnow 2011!! Extreme weather in any way, shape, or form excites me. I've wanted to be a tornado chaser since high school, although I'm almost certain I would die. I miss me a good old-fashioned thunderstorm, so the broadcast of a huge thundersnow??? I've been making everyone text me live pictures. It probably won't live up to expectations, as weather forecasts never do, but I'm guessing 10 inches to a foot.



And yet, why is the midwest acting like it's another y2k? All the grocery stores are running out of the necessities: milk, bread, eggs, , banana, oj, etc... It's not a month long storm people! School will be canceled, roads will suck, maybe some minor power outages, but you live in Michigan! We're supposed to handle this shit with a cocky dismissal and four wheel drive. Get a grip.

okole is hawaiian for butt

Because if I were going to start my own business the first concept that would come to my mind would be bidets!



It's just too funny and it's always parked on my street. Mr. Bidet apparently lives in an apartment right by me. Hell, he could be my next door neighbor that owns two chihuahuas and smokes a lot of weed.

But I don't think he is...

there's no place like home

I visited home for Christmas. My first time back since moving three years ago. Notice how I refer to Michigan as home. That's no slip of the tongue. Not to do Hawaii an injustice, but I've always felt tentative here and I've finally realized that's no way to live life. It's not really something that's going to change either. Hell, I still live partially out of my suitcase. I hold off on buying expensive bulky items (furniture, car, etc...) because of the unspoken knowledge that I'll just have to sell it or ship it when I get fed up and move back. The future constantly consumes me as I get older and what I see of my life here, I don't like.

For two weeks I was again immersed in my own world, feeling as though the last three years on this rock have been some sort of alternate reality. Not dreamlike, but just like I pushed pause on my Michigan life to go live another one, only to return and hit play. And when I did, I felt as if I found the me that got left behind three years ago. To avoid cheesy cliches I won't say I found myself, but there is an assured confidence and comfort that comes along with being surrounded by your own history. I've certainly been no wallflower here in Hawaii, but the majority of the time I present the generic version of myself for others. Edit the quirks, check the opinions, make sure conversation is relevant. Back home, I have the balls to throw myself out there, judgment be damned.

As my flight approached the city lights of Honolulu earlier this month, I realized the dread I felt in line at security in Detroit's airport was not merely due to a reluctance to say goodbye to my parents...again. It was a distinct dread of returning back to my life here. And it's only getting worse. There is something life-affirming in a realization so strong. I pity those who complacently go through life. Knowing what I need and want to do is comforting and gives purpose, even if making it happen won't be easy. It may suck but at least I'm not lost.