an offer i couldn't refuse

The easiest way to get back into the habit of blogging is food. Moving to Kailua brings with it a broad spectrum of culinary choices. I still miss my ramen concubine at McCully Shopping Center and have yet to find comparable charsiu here, but the area is not void of tasty meals altogether.

Last Monday I took a day off for myself. This differs from plain old taking a day off. I needed a "me" day. Some time for myself, to think or not worry about someone else and what they want to do. It's not as selfish as it sounds, just more of a self-preservation tactic. Everyone should have their own alone time.

I went to lunch at Crepes No Ka 'Oi. Originally I wanted to try Boots and Kimo, since I've heard so many people rave about it, but they were going to close in half an hour and there was still a line. Crepes No Ka 'Oi is just a few doors down. I walked by and recalled reading about them. After perusing the menu I decided to give it a go.



I ordered The Godfather, which was basically a mozzarella caprese inside a crepe.



Look at all that balsamic goodness oozing out! I was pretty impressed with the size of it too. The menu wasn't too extensive, but then considering you're dealing solely with crepes I suppose it wasn't bound to be a novel. There was one involving Nutella that sounded fabulous had I been in a dessert mood. And a berry one that was tempting as well. I will definitely be back.



Oooo and they had this nifty light fixtures that I want.

back with a vengeance?

I'm back. After a several month long hiatus, I'm not quite sure as to how "back" I am yet. Perhaps I just feel the need this one night. I am left physically exhausted by the day but mentally alert. I know I need to write more often. I know that. And I have often felt the urge, just not the motivation. Or perhaps it's the other way around? I mean well, I swear.

The thought of writing a recap of the last few months is disgusting at the moment. The details of my life are often too much for me to handle, so I shall spare you. Suffice it to say that I have extricated myself from the unsatisfactory living situation. I am the inhabitant of a house for the second time in my life, even if it still is a rental. I'm now living on the windward side, which is a hugely welcome change. The drive is not that much of a hassle.

Chores are becoming an issue. There is a monstrous pile of dishes in the kitchen. Every plate and bowl in the house is dirty and stacked 2 feet high. After being unofficially dubbed the mother of the house, I refuse to tackle the majority of them. I went on a cleaning spree a few days ago, so my share of household duties have more than been fulfilled as far as I'm concerned. And yet the dishes are untouched. I have to draw the line somewhere.

I went in search of a bowl, figuring I could handle washing just one, and discovered that mold has taken a deathly grip on the mile high pile. The dry-heaving set in and I had to exit the kitchen immediately.

After one roommate left for Minnesota for 3 weeks, I am left in a house with men. And Lord knows, men don't know how to clean.

so much to update, so little time

I promise I haven't forgotten about you....

decisions, decisions...

Is April Fool's Day ever actually humorous post grade school? I feel as though it would be a touch on the cheeky side to feed you some lie about how I'm pregnant or I've eloped or I'm moving or I won the lottery. Of all 365 days on the calendar, you're least likely to get away with it today. Even if the stars align and have left you with a reality that sounds like it's fictional, no one will believe you today. Try as you might, that miraculous promotion will be scoffed at. Isn't it pointless to play? Isn't that something that's only acceptable when we're 12? Or maybe if we work for Michael Scott?

That being said, I'm going to completely disregard today's date and be straight up with you. I'm at a crossroads. A few months ago I was forced to make a decision. That decision ended up being that, whether I wanted to move or not, it would be in my best financial interests to stay in Hawaii. Detroit is fucked. Even if I had the assets to move, that is not the environment I want to be in. So I stayed and found a certain level of content with my life. Three months later, I am presented with a new decision. I know this is where I need to be for now. I'm okay with that. I have a semi-lucrative job. I'm dating someone. I have a mediocre social life. However, now I'm beginning to see that should I want to exert the effort to begin a life here there are choices I can make to facilitate that decision. In other words, should this be more of a long term thing I need to start making life easier. This living situation, as is, is not ideal. Scratch that, ideal is not even an option at this point. This is not a long term situation. Crazy Mary Jane aside, I do not want to pay this price, especially since I could get more furnishings for a cheaper rent. We occasionally have an unexplainable roach problem, which is unacceptable in my eyes, especially when I find one on my bed like I did an hour ago. I love living with Marya, but if I'm elsewhere in Waikiki we can still have our fun.

My creative and professional needs are also not fulfilled. Buca is easy. It's easy money. It's stressful and annoying, but the only people I have in Hawaii are there. And there is fun. You know, when I'm not irritated. Yet I'm capable of and have experienced so much more that it's not really a long term option. If it is, I need something else in my life to satisfy me. Oprah visited recently and I filled him in on my situation. He made me promise that no matter what and above all else, that I will write. Not blog, but write something. Anything. He even gave permission to use him as fodder. That would be something. Who knows where it would lead, but it's something more.

Vegas is a much needed reprieve from all these thoughts. It's a much needed vacation from Buca. And seeing Andy will help. Just the fact that I've known him for so long and therefore he knows me so well will give me some perspective. I'm sure of that. It may also be difficult to return to a social situation where I don't have that kind of connection. Then again, it was difficult to leave it in the first place.

so fresh and so clean

Tonight my hands smell like home. I'm not sure what exactly that means. Home to me now has a lot broader definition than it did before. It means everything else in my existence prior to moving to the island. Therefore pinning this aroma of nostalgia and comfort is rather impossible.

My date drove up to drop me off at our usual spot only to discover a Navigator limo occupying the entirety of the area on the side of the road. We drove around the block only to find it hadn't budged. So we made our way on Kalakaua, for a slight detour, only to find that we both had to go shi shi really bad. So we stopped off at the Kapahulu Zippy's to use the lavatory. A rather long detour, but once after taking care of business I immediately took notice of how my hands smelled after washing them. I am a fan of cleanliness but this soap smelled delightful and something about it seemed to hit a little closer to home. I am obsessed with the smell, to the point where I want to visit this Zippy's on a regular basis just for their bathrooms. Perhaps I should take note of the actual soap. I don't know how or why but it reminds me of my childhood...maybe my Grandma?...or home...or something in my Michigan past. And I can't stop sniffing my hands.

Awkward? No, just nostalgic....and sanitary.

fatty mcfatty

So not only is Michigan the most unemployed and poorest (okay, this part may not be factual) state, but apparently we're also big fatties too. This I already knew as it was in the news several years ago, but that still doesn't make this acceptable.

a new meaning to the phrase "coming out of the closet"

As I've discussed here before, I have a third roommate who is essentially the bane of my existence (obviously excluding all male of the species). Most, if not all, of my reasons for being so annoyed are valid.

For discretionary purposes let's refer to crazy roommate as Mary Jane.

Mary Jane never leaves the apartment. I'm not saying she's a homebody. I'm a homebody. I mean she's a hermit. She leaves for 5 minutes to go to the store and it feels like there should be a national holiday dedicated to the glorious occasion. There is no reprieve! She never cleans. I still use Marya's bathroom, not out of laziness, but I'm not going to clean the bathroom by myself to have her nasty ass trash it. She's lived here for almost a year and either goes without tp or steals it out of the other bathroom. She's high 24-7. I am not against a little herb, but she is the epitome of a pothead. She eats all our food without replenishing. She talks while you're watching TV. She's unemployed, for reasons unknown to me, and does nothing but burn illegal DVDs and play video games. She lives in the closet, yet I still can't move into my half of the bedroom even though I'm paying more in rent. (She can't even pay her pittance on time.) She tries to accommodate me by leaving a fraction of the closet for hanging my clothes (and acted offended when I immediately didn't take her up on this offer), yet I can never get to these belongings without feeling awkward. Basically I can't use the bedroom period without feeling awkward, although I did finally make my bed last week out of desperation. I have yet to sleep in it. I've lived here for almost three months now.

My annoyance is heightened since I've began dating someone. His living situation does not allow for visitors, so we are left dealing with my situation. Living with two others, no matter the size of the apartment or sleeping arrangements, limits privacy to begin with. Sleeping on the couch doesn't fly when you're sharing it. This is essentially the reason I made my bed, but I still can't have "alone time" with somebody sleeping in the closet. Yes, she sleeps in the closet. When I say she lives there, I mean it. Her bed holds her laundry. There are times when I realize the closet door is closed and I haven't seen her for days. I've never smelled death, but I've wondered what I would do if I smelled something funky. (Probably make Marya search for the corpse.)

This is the biggest cockblock I have ever faced!

Today I looked forward to a day of relaxation. By 2pm I felt the immediate need to escape the apartment merely because of her. My mother always said I'm easily annoyed, but I know that's not the case here. Mary Jane was on the phone complaining, as usual. (She makes herself out to be a victim of her own drug-driven existence. One day she was on the verge of tears because she didn't have $2 for bus fare in order to obtain her food stamps. That was another day I had to flee the apartment in fear of her bumming money off me. It's not that I'm cheap. I just have no pity for her and I was honestly more afraid of hitting her than anything.) When I use the phone I am discrete. If I'm having a serious or private conversation, or perhaps one that might become more intense or involve yelling, I'll go onto the lanai. This is for my own privacy and consideration for those around me. She just strolls around the entire apartment without any concern for anyone else. Excuse me, but I don't need to hear about your inability to feed yourself, especially while I'm watching Scrubs. I'm not taking pity on you. I'm not going to give you food or money. We are not BFFs. You're making me want to punch you.

The conversation today began with complaining about her disability claim (she's clearly not disabled) but made it's way quickly to politics and the media. Mary Jane is 32. (Thus only making her lifestyle all the more reprehensible.) She's clearly been around long enough to have a respectable opinion about politics. She's technology savvy enough to understand how the media handles politics. And she acts as though she's extremely aware and competent about all this. Yet during her rant I hear her discuss how she actually tuned in to FOX News for their coverage of Obama's speech and was appalled at how anti-Obama they were. "They really were like ripping him apart." And yes, she says "like" at least a dozen times a minute as if she's the lead cheerleader from your local high school.

Honey, where has your ignorant ass been when you claim to follow the media's coverage of politics? FOX has a conservative bias just as MSNBC has a liberal one. Everyone knows this. Why are you acting appalled?

She then went on to say, "And that Hannity Colmes guy is a fucking moron." No sweet tits, you're a fucking moron. His name isn't Hannity Colmes, just Sean Hannity. Colmes was the name of his former liberal counterpart. But yes, Hannity is a fucking moron. You two should have a lot in common. Perhaps this is a more forgivable mistake, but by that point I was so aggravated that I knew I had to leave. Before I left I heard the conversation venture into religion, another supposedly taboo subject. I left sans makeup in order to go down to Deeps and drink. I had no intention of drinking today, but Mary Jane began what became a day that makes getting drunk necessary.

That's it for now. I am off to finish my bottle of wine.