edumacation

Several years ago, shortly before I moved to Hawaii, I can remember being in the Starbucks on Hall Road having a discussion with my Mother over coffee and a crossword. (I have many fond memories of that Starbucks.) She used the phrase "if you go back to school" and I was deeply offended. You see, it was never a question for me. Of course I was going to go back to grad school, it was just a matter of when I would be able to afford it.

And then life happened.

Here I am, so many years later and thousands of miles away still wrestling with the same dilemma. I still want it. And while, on a daily basis, I doubt if that's in the cards for me, I still believe that's what I'm meant to be doing. I've made this so entirely clear to Mike that I now realize that once the moment where a Master's degree is a possibility for me presents itself I may have no idea what I want to do.

It's never as easy as it being about what I want to do. And there's a certain amount of fear involved. I'm self aware enough to know that. I've already spent how many tens of thousands of dollars on a degree, and a good degree at that, and how many thousands more in student loans that I'm still paying off...and for what? What if I choose the wrong program and find myself in the same situation?

I've been told by multiple sources that a graduate degree does the opposite of what your bachelor's does, meaning it opens more doors and therefore jobs for you rather than limiting you. But how do I know? How do I know what fields will be hiring? What careers pay well? And, more importantly, what job will fulfill me professionally?

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.

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!

mamasaymamasamamacusa

So my Mom is coming to visit....

Finally, a visitor! I realize they're not exactly giving away plane tickets these days, but you'd think people would be more willing to travel here. I provide them with a great excuse to splurge for the trip, especially when it comes to my parents. After all, they've spent quite a sum on visiting my sister over the years, even if the individual tickets were cheap. I'd say it's time it was my turn. Besides, Hawaii is much more interesting than Oregon.

There's no negatives about the situation, other than my Dad not being able to come, but there are concerns. I've already voiced my insecurities with my living situation to her. Not that I am insecure about it. Insecurities just have a way of happening when it comes to maternal relationships. For instance, I sleep on a mattress on the floor. It's comfortable and it works, but not exactly conventional. I did move here with basically what fit in two suitcases and a carry on, so having a mattress is a blessing. And my Mom knows that.

Money is going to be a bit tight. I am always short on cash as it is. Since moving it just has a tendency to disappear. However, my Mom has forewarned that she will be too. Apparently she's going to try for some spending money from my Dad and even Grandma, but that's best case scenario. Doesn't matter. The main priority is getting to see each other after almost two years. I want to show her the island though. Not in the cheesy tourist way, although certain "musts" will be on the list. After all, I have yet to make it up Diamondhead or to Pearl Harbor, but I want to show her the island I know too. The places and food the tourists don't know about. The real Aloha spirit, not just what can be found in Waikiki.

And then thirdly, I kind of didn't inform her of my relationship status. Actually, I take that back. I told my Mom when I went on a date and she had a horribly typical interfering mom response, or at least I interpreted it as that. It wasn't entirely my fault. My sister reprimanded her for how she responded, saying it was understandable that I freaked out. But following that whole debacle I just told her that the date was a flop and nothing came of it. Which would be fine if he and I didn't live in the same house now. And if she weren't staying at the house during her stay. Hmm. I decided to tell her information on a need to know basis after our misunderstanding. And, well, now she needs to know.

Monday I told her I've been dating someone. She was dumbfounded, which was confusing to me cause I figured she suspected something. I mean, I've been referring to a mysterious car for a while now. Either she didn't pay attention or she thought I had enough cash sitting around to buy one.

Now I have just over a month to bring up the fact that we live in the same house, which isn't too bad. Not sure whether I'll just claim that it's a recent development or not, but at least I've done the hardest part.

I don't care. I'm just excited. I haven't had something this big to look forward to in a long time.

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.

randomness

Alright, there's no way to avoid this being random, so I may as well embrace it...

The last 5 days of Buca have been utterly exhausting and, in all ways, unbearable. I can't say I didn't make money, but it certainly wasn't worth tolerating the horror that was Christmas Eve followed by the insanity that was the power outage. At least now I have some time off in order to recuperate and manage my life.

Ironically enough, now that I do have some time to take care of these necessities, I've developed a sore throat. And in the world of Megan and her health, this means that I'm getting sick. It's inevitable. Super.

As a result of my crazy workweek, I bought new work shoes. I attribute half of my complaints to the fact that my work shoes sucked. This was no surprise, as I bought them on sale at Payless for five dollars. I thought I just needed something to get me through a week or two, but alas, I am in Hawaii longer than I thought. So I invested in some Crocs. That's right. I'm a convert.

I have to be moved out of this apartment by Wednesday. Although I have no idea as to exactly how this will take place, it must be done. And much cleaning will be involved. It may be a hassle, but I have no hesitation in bidding farewell to the Nazi douche bag that frequently haunts the front desk. More on him later. He's a story, in and of itself.

Seriously, this sore throat is a bitch. My sleeping habits better not be affected. I need to pass out in that beautiful bed of mine as soon as my sheets are done in the dryer. Insomnia has taken it's toll enough on me this week.

I need to call my Mom.

I need to purchase a new camera.

I need a decent internet connection.

I think I lost 5 pounds.

winter wonderland?

So Michigan is going to have a white Christmas for the first time in Lord knows how many years. And apparently it won't stop snowing, or at least that's what Andy says. They had a couple inches last week and then another foot a few days ago. It snowed overnight. Plus whatever has accumulated in between. Nothing's melted cause it's freezing cold. Because of the budget cuts the city of Mount Clemens can't afford to plow every road, which means my parent's street gets excluded since it's merely a court. This doesn't affect my Dad, whose truck can drive through anything, but my Mom was stuck at home for three days. Though I believe that was the case last year too. It took 45 minutes to get my little Focus down my street on the morning after my birthday because it didn't get plowed.

To say I'm grateful not to be dealing with that right now would be an understatement.

live and learn

Sometimes I feel the perspective on my life is skewed. I think it has something to do with self-preservation. The easiest way to deal with my current situation is to only look at my current situation. To look at how life has been, to look at how it could be right now, to look at how it will be, would be irrelevant and futile. I can do nothing, at least for now. So what would be the point of dwelling on anything else??

That's not to say my alternatives are peachy keen. My life before I moved was not fulfilling. I have good reason to be here and I have no regrets.

But at this time of year, post-birthday and inching nearer toward Christmas every day, I find myself wondering how my heart led me to such a predicament. I am a homebody. As much as I want to envision myself as a independent city girl, I am a homebody at heart. And at this time of year I am incapable of stifling that part of myself. I am a Christmas fanatic. I start breaking out the holiday CD's mid-September. It is my sole duty to assemble, decorate, and perfect each year's Christmas tree. My parents only contribution is DJing and bartending (the "Christmas Drink" recipe was closely guarded for years during my youth and, although it now features rum, was also obviously non-alcoholic at that time). Now I'm left to wonder if the tree is even up yet. My Mom is busy working and driving up to Canada to take care of my Grandma, which is a definite priority. My Dad also works and has an incurable lack of Christmas cheer until the 24th. Last I asked, the tree had not yet made it's grand entrance into the household. Even if it had, I'm sure I would not approve of the haphazard manner in which my Mom adorned it.

I watch holiday movies chock full of the ideal Christmas settings and I am envious of what I see. I play my newly downloaded barrage of Christmas music classics (Bing Crosby, Dean Martin, Mannheim Steamroller, Home Alone, among others) and my heart aches because I am without the accompanying comforts they have always assured me. I have no spirit surrounding me. I have no snow falling gently outside my window. I have no family joining in the festivities with me. I have no one to bake with or for. I have no traditions to uphold. I have nothing that I have been yearning for this month. And as much as I enjoy the pleasure these songs bring me, I am left bitter and unsatisfied.

Perhaps I am overreacting. I have no doubt about this. Life will, as they say, go on. There will be other Christmases. There will be other holidays. In fact, I don't have to question that. A year from now I will know not to put myself in a situation like this. I will be able to visit home not long from now. I have learned, which is a blessing to have in life...a privilege even. Others can be doomed to repeat the same mistakes over and over.

I know my parents don't know how I feel. Maybe they have never been in a situation to view life like I have. Maybe it's my fault for being inable to express it. Mom knows my affinity for the season, but for some reason she's never properly understood my thought processes...about anything.

P.S. I'm enjoying Muppet Christmas Carol and I have concluded that Beaker and the Swedish Chef are tied for my all time favorite muppet characters.

thanks to everyone that made my day special!

So, all in all, I'd say my 27th birthday was a success. I slept in, much to my mother's disapproval. Life is tough when you're the owner of a Blackberry. I set my phone to vibrate, but it vibrates rather vehemently. So all the texts and phone calls that were meant to extend birthday wishes actually kept repeatedly waking me up all morning. (Not that I'm complaining. Actually I am.) In addition to that, I also receive all email alerts on my phone, including any activity on facebook or myspace. So the damn thing was going off every 15 minutes. At one point I threw it on the floor. What can I say, I'm loved.

In the afternoon I made my way to Ala Moana.



I hoped to find a deal on a cute little something to wear to dinner, but after a few hours of meandering I settled on a new pair of shoes to go with a dress I already owned. Good enough for me. Shoes are one of my vices. I also stopped by the MAC counter in Nordstrom to get my makeup done. I would not normally come up with this idea on my own, but several friends suggested it. They insisted I treat myself. And I decided, why not? So I did.

Dinner was scheduled at Gyu-kaku in the evening.





There were four of us attending for sure (Ash, Quita, Phil, and moi). An intimate little group, I suppose. I haven't eaten there in months. It can be rather pricey if you get carried away. Two others also showed up (Michael and Nick), which was an awesome surprise. Pitchers of Kirin Ichiban were consumed. We started off with poke, assorted kim chee, and tofu salad (the dressing is delicious). My only requirement was harami miso (beef with miso sauce), but we also ordered garlic shrimp, garlic scallops, miso butterfish, sweet onion, mushroom medley, bacon wrapped asparagus, and premium kalbi (which was the happy hour half off special). I got a lychee martini rather than a birthday cake, which was fine by me. And then the staff came around and sang. And their way of celebrating was bringing me a birthday shot which tasted like apple, but apparently had 151 in it.

Instead of having dessert there, we spontaneously decided to head over to Coldstone. But alas, they had just closed. Since we were already in the area, we crashed Buca, even though they too had just closed. This worked out well. Alex bought our dessert. And then apologized for harassing me so much, which was appropriate. Tiara met us there. And then we moved on.

The night continued on to Charthouse for a lychee martini or two. Mmm, my favorite. And then we ended up at Red Lion's in Waikiki. It was much busier than on previous Mondays, which was disappointing. But in the end it was a fun night. Lots of socializing and laughs. The only negative aspect of the evening was my camera getting broken. It's not in the best condition anyways, but the person put in charge of documenting the evening with photos dropped the darn thing. He's looking into getting it fixed for me.

All in all, a much better birthday than 26. The lack of a blizzard guaranteed that one though.