Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Tonight when we went to my brother Joseph's house for dinner he insisted he had to study afterwards so he brought along his Pediatrics textbook. That thing weighs 8 pounds and cost him about $1.3 million dollars if I recall correctly.
And we're S.O.L on finding accommodations up in Santa Barbara this weekend. Though we consider ourselves experienced travellers, we have broken the cardinal rule- failing to "plan ahead" for a three-day weekend. Now we are paying the price by having to stay at some horrendously overpriced B & B.
Now I know that some people love B & B's, but *biiiig surprise*- I'm not one of 'em.
I'm not into the charming, Holly Hobbie-inspired rooms, the little doilies on the end tables, the wine and cheese social hour in the evenings, or sharing the hot tub with Bob & Irma Hoodinkle from Iowa. I'm afraid I prefer the sterile, professional, and anonymous environment of the Hilton.
We thought we'd drive Roy's car up the coast with the windows down so we can feel the ocean breeze on our faces and feel young and vibrant again. There is a trade-off of course, seeing as how his trunk will accommodate either one pair of underwear each, or a hairbrush. But not both.
Tuesday, August 30, 2005
We're planning on laying out on the beach, visiting a winery, and reminiscing with friends. I may even redeem some of the birthday coupons Roy gave me earlier this month! I think I'll use the one I have for a 30 min. massage (they used to be for 60 minutes, but apparently I was being 'too demanding' about them so he's shortened them over the years...I know, I know, I'm being totally robbed).
At my last job I used to drive through Santa Barbara almost once a week, so I ALWAYS made it a point to stop there each time so I could really soak up all that cool, trendy, Santa Barbara ambiance. Somehow though, my 5-minute stops at Chevron to refuel and get a bag of beef jerky just didn't relax or soothe me all that much. I really don't know what the big deal about Santa Barbara is!
But I'm still excited about going for the three-day weekend. I love our mini-vacations. They keep me going in between our 'big vacations.' We don't go to Egypt until December, and my Arabic lessons haven't gone so well. So far I've learned "Salaam alekum" (which technically, I learned years ago from Sayid on that prison show Oz). I'm pretty sure I'll kick the language lessons into high gear once I'm en route to Cairo. By the time we land I'll be fluently speaking such sentences as, "Does my red basket like your dog?" or "How do I get to Sinai by eating your house?"
Monday, August 29, 2005
Unfortunately for me, about once a month, Amtrak has been parking a train right next to where I cross the tracks. Worse yet, they leave the lights on! So about once a month as I'm racing over the tracks and wildly swinging my head left to right to make sure I'm gonna live, I nearly crap myself with fear because all I see is a train with it's lights on about 200 feet away, seemingly bearing down on me!
To make a long story short, I'm getting sick and tired of having to go to work and clean the crap out of my drawers. I curse Amtrak for their goddamn coffee breaks!
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Strangely enough, while I could care less if someone has a nicer home, pool, cars or lawn than I do, I am pretty sure I speak for all anal people when I say that finished garages are so nice and purty and damnit, I want one!!!
When we bought the house we discussed doing it ourselves, but because Roy declared the garage 'his domain' I was told they weren't practical or necessary. Not to be deterred, in a not-so-subtle second attempt to impose my anal retentive, neat-freakish tendencies on him- I bought four "manly" stainless steel cabinets from Home Depot that were 'for him'. While he gamely played along with the whole 'these are for YOU!' charade and dutifully shoved all his stuff into them, well...we're still a long way from getting on HGTV.
So you can imagine my utter surprise the other day when Joseph reported to me that when his friend Doug came over to get furniture out of our garage, he said, "Gee, this garage is so clean I feel like I should take my shoes off ." ;-) Sweet!!! What triumph! My heart is bursting with pride. I feel better and can move on with life now.
In fact, I did move on with life last week. On Friday night I baked Roy some Chinese Almond Cookies, and on Saturday I went hiking with Joseph and his friends at Big Bear. And last Thursday I got my first facial! I'd never considered getting one before, but my coworker said they are as relaxing and therapeutic as massages (and she, unlike I, can afford to spring for a 90-min. massage, so I took her word for it). Boy oh boy...was she right. I feel asleep during it not once, but twice (I am sure the esthetician loves it when you drift off, snore, and drool all over her pillow).
Now I'm off to watch some TiVo'd Girls Next Door episodes. It's that show about the Playboy mansion. I love it. I'm gonna lose 50 more pounds, dye my hair blond, get DDD's, change my name to "Tiffani" and move right in.
Friday, August 26, 2005
1. Skip Hilo Hatties.
I know, I know... it's hard to pass up that free shell necklace and watered down pineapple juice. To make it even more tempting, they sometimes run ads that should say something along the lines of, "Buy 20 bright-colored Aloha shirts you'll never wear again and we'll give you a free mug from China with a flower on it!"
I promise...you can get waaaay nicer Aloha attire from Tommy Bahamas, and you can even wear it after your vacation. Trust me when I say that the orange matching Aloha shirt and mu'u mu'u you that you and the wife are eyeing up just won't work for you guys once you go back home.
I am particularly vulnerable to poor clothing souvenir purchases myself. When I was in Japan for three years I got caught up into the whole "I must proudly represent the Mother Land!" hysteria and purchased multiple yukatas, hand-woven rice slippers, kimonos, etc. As you can imagine, unless I am planning to audition as an extra in the upcoming Memoirs of a Geisha, this attire is all worthless to me. Chalk up one for the Salvation Army!
2. Yes, you do need the SPF 45+. Reapply it every hour just like the bottle says.
Some tourists think that if they use a sunscreen that high it will somehow result in them getting less of a tan. Not true. If they use anything less, the only thing they WILL get is a charred, red, body that will sting and itch for days. (The exception? Red Roy of course. I think I've already told you that he is convinced his red turns to color. I'm gonna let him hold on to that...wink wink).
Being a brown girl myself, I grew up feeling exempt from such dire warnings of severe sunburn. I have since learned my lesson. The last really bad burn I suffered was because I cockily decided to lay out in the sun for 2 hours without a drop of sunscreen. A few days later I was not only red and itching, but my entire chest area broke out into hundreds of large water blisters! I looked like a reptile. A chubby, whimpering reptile.
3. That lei is toast after Day 2.
There are few flowers that can withstand being worn more than a day. So it pains me to see those tourists who are still wearing their browned, rotting leis days later... Do the circling flies not mean anything to you?
Please don't think I'm being condescending about all of this. I freely admit that I can be a PRIME tourist sucker myself. Case in point? I also wore a t-shirt in Mongolia that had wild horses on it (I recovered in time to toss it once I left the country), and just gave away two elephant-patterned silk skirts from Thailand that I never wore.
If you didn't catch that- ELEPHANT. SKIRTS. I have no excuse for that. So I guess if you really want to wear that bright orange Aloha shirt with your favorite pair of 'mandals,' who am I to talk? Just promise me you'll draw the line when you get to that stand with the hair braiding and henna tattoos. They won't look good on that $30 caricature picture you're gonna get suckered into buying.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Here's the link:
Shakas 'den brah,
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Though this means that the happy homemaking Focker I have come to know and love will soon be replaced by a manic, book-toting, flashcard-making, study freak, I am excited for him. This is because he will have an opportunity to work in the OB & Pediatrics ward of one of the finest hospitals in the country.
I see nothing but good coming out of this- he gets to experience the miracle of childbirth without me having any part of it, AND he can tell me all about all the vaginas he penetrated with his fingers over dinner! Wonderful fun for all!
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
1. Be thrown 5 feet in the air.
2. Chant/beg for 'more rocks! more rocks!' so he could immediately drop them back into the water once they were given to him.
But here's the fun part, while we were getting out of the water to leave, we saw this odd, tiny brown object bobbing in the clear blue water in front of us. I immediately shrunk away from it like I do all living things not human, but Joseph scooped it up to see what it was.
It was a BABY SQUID! Less than the size of your pinkie. It had one large eye that took up most of his body and these teeny, tiny 1-inch long tentacles. It was fascinating! I have pictures of it that I'll have to post once Joseph sends them to me (should be before 2009).
It also reminded me of this very scary dish that Hawaiians and Japanese eat. They take the 'delicious' octopus ink and use it to flavor pasta. While people are eating it, their teeth, tongue and lips are colored...you guessed it...black. It's pretty gross to see. I watched Roy dig into it once (he was digusted but swallowed a bowl full to be polite) and swore that would be the last time we ever kissed.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
- Baked Roy some chocolate chip/walnut cookies (I am not sure if this was really more for him, or for me...I bought a new glass cake dish set I was *dying* to use)
- Sorted through our coupon filer and tossed out old coupons
- Asked Roy on his way in to work to pick me up a ghost-shaped cookie cutter from Joann's Crafts and even gave him take a coupon to go and buy it (now that's love on his part...)
- Asked my mother to email me two of her cookie recipes
- Bought a bag of PRUNES from the grocery store (I can't help it, I really, really like prunes and I realized I haven't bought a bag, well...possibly ever)
- Am considering enrolling myself in one of two night classes at the local community center, either hula or karate. One is the dance of love, the other, the dance of...well, death? But who cares! We all know only old people take night classes!!!!!
- After Roy and I finished walking and swimming this morning we both stumbled home in an exhausted stupor claiming we both needed a nap (this was all before 11am. Roy, the patsy, is already snoring on the couch).
Because I know everyone is clamoring to ask, how's the diet going, Josie? Here's my short answer-
I haven't lost a friggen pound in two weeks, despite exercising quite a bit. If you're thinking, well perhaps she's eating too much? Bingo! You're right!
For whatever reason, the last two weeks were "Let's eat out for lunch" days nearly every other day at work. First off, I don't do well around a bread basket, and when work offers to get you that sensational tropical fruit creme brulee even though you've already inhaled a platter of chicken marsala with pine nuts and fresh spinach, I challenge anyone to say no!
Friday, August 19, 2005
Trust me when I say that Focker isn't racist. Believe me, I try and hurl this insult at him every time I don't get my way (hey...it's convenient) and it never fazes him!
Josie: This lasagna you just made from scratch doesn't have enough cheese on it!!! Will you make me another cheesier one?
Josie: You racist bastard!
Focker: Quiet down and eat before I throw it away.
Josie: slurp slurp slurp
See what I mean? The man is clearly insensitive to my cheese needs, but not racist.
I read his blog and yeah, he probably could have disguised the names better, but other than that, I think he was just trying to be funny.
I'm sure we'll talk about this when he gets home tonight. I'll plead with him to change the names, he'll tell me he doesn't care what other people think, I'll sulk, he'll tell me I'm trying to micromanage his life, I'll sulk more, then he'll change them to keep the peace, but I'll still have to sulk another hour or two afterwards for good measure and to really show him who's boss.
Other than that little trauma, I also committed a classic faux pas at work today. I was THIRTY minutes late to a meeting I scheduled. I wasn't dilly-dallying or lolly-gagging or anything of the sort, someone just gave me directions to the wrong office (there are at least 15 offices that I could potentially work out of, so it's bound to happen once in awhile). I tried to smooth everything over by bringing a bag of Mint Milanos and being extra funny, but when it's late Friday afternoon- even I should have known to pull out all the stops and bring a can of Pringles too.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
This season, like most seasons, the answer to both is no. However, this season really takes the cake. Because as far as I can see, the entire cast is white. This season could have been- Survivor: Nazi Germany! Challenges will include teams working together to see who can oppress the locals and teach them to recite Mein Kampf! Those who are voted out of the tribe will be sent to a concentation camp on the other side of the island! (Ohhh, this is all just wrong...I'll stop here.)
I've said it before and I'll say it again, I really am not a militant minority. I don't belong to race-based clubs, march in ethnic parades, and am NOT AT ALL hypersensitive to 'perceived slights based on race' ("It's not a yellow crayon, goddamn you!!! It's an Asian-American crayon!").
It's just I can't help but notice that television has not really changed over the last ten or twenty years. Sure, sure, there's a few more African Americans and homosexuals on tv, but I don't believe it's anywhere near reflecting the proportionate amount it should. Asians, Hispanics and the disabled are still very much non-existent. This is a bit frustrating. While I'm not recommending Hollywood take on EEO/Affirmative Action-like policies (I don't want to see parapalegic blind midgets on Days of our Lives, or dyslexic gay albinos on CNN per se), I just wish it were a little more diverse.
I am sure my rants will fall on deaf ears, so as my own personal protest against CBS & Mark Burnett, I will be camping outside of George Bush's Texas ranch until he decides to speak with me about it. Unfortunately, some other irritating group is doing the same thing and stealing my thunder!
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
The article also talked about people who had received regifted stuff. In one case, the gift giver hadn't realized that there was still the original card to the gift giver inside the gift, and in another situation, a person had received an item that they had given to the very person who gave it back to them! Very funny!
I think the only really tacky gifts I received for our wedding was:
1. One person showed up without RSVPing and then brought an additional guest on top of that. Her gift? A $5 candy dish from Ross shaped like an oyster that was about the size of my palm...good enough to hold like, 3 Hershey kisses.
2. Someone else gave us a dusty, yellowed box that held a brand new (though possibly 20-year old) fryer that was in that 70's orange color. At the time, we were vegetarians so unless we planned on frying celery it wasn't gonna work for us.
Another person once gave me fatigue-print water bottle covers (yes I know...I didn't know they existed either). Helpful...if say, I was going to IRAQ and needed to disguise my water bottle.
My final scary present was a pair of purple gloves and suspiciously aged Avon make up. Half the words had already rubbed off the tubes and bottles. What really made Roy and I practically dissolve into giggles later is that the giver actually launched into enthusiastic speech of how she saw the make up and immediately thought of me. Me. The girl whose wardrobe is 90% black and doesn't wear make up. Ever.
What can I say? I can shamefully admit I've given some poor gifts in the past, but have really tried to make a better effort over the past few years.
Now it's your turn, please feel free to share the worst gifts you've received in the Comments section!
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
While I know that driving a minivan with one occupant in it is not exactly going to land me the guest speaking role at the next Kyoto or Greenpeace Convention, I'm not exactly driving a Hummer either. Yet everytime I feel like whining about how much I pay to fill 'er up , I have some smarmy know-it-all reporter telling me how grateful I should be paying $2.85/gallon when those poor Europeans have been paying $234.92 per drop of gasoline for years.
And for the record, I can't afford to buy another car, I can't rideshare (I work at a different office everyday), and I can't bike to work either (unless I am planning to enter the next Ironman Triathalon). Hitchhiking is out because my legs aren't hairy enough. Can't I just be pissed about the price of gas?!!!
In any case, because I spent 2.5 quality hours wasting gas in my car yesterday, I spent a portion of that time singing along to the radio. A few years ago, I figured with all the time I spend in my car- couldn't I learn how to self-improve my singing? The answer after over 2 years of diligently attempting to strenghten my voicebox and discipline my range in the car is a resounding 'hell no.' Celine is safe. For now.
Monday, August 15, 2005
Saturday, August 13, 2005
When I first moved here people would try to give me helpful routes when driving:
"No, no, no! Don't go THAT way! Take the 60 West to the 215 North and THEN get on the 10 East. Take the 17A exit, not 17B!"
Listen up folks, we have TWO directions in Hawaii, they're called "mauka" (mountain) and "makai" (ocean). And we never use the numbers for roads. We use landmarks instead. This is how I'd give those same directions to a fellow Hawaiian:
"You know that big rock? Turn left there, and then head mauka until you see that bumpy road near the Kanahele's house. Get on that road, pass the chicken farm and then exit near the pineapple patch."
See? Waaaaay easier. Then there's the offense we take at being invited to potlucks that aren't up to Hawaiian standards. I know I keep harping about this, but when there's a potluck in Hawaii (which admittedly are quite rare, since it is seen by many as stingy and embaraassing to ask others to provide food for your own party), if you plan on attending with your family of four, it's safe to say that you should plan on bringing enough food for 200.
When a Hawaiian attends a potluck outside of the state of Hawaii for the first time, they typically show up with a cooler full of steaks, chicken, fresh ahi, pineapple-upside-down-cake, macadamia nuts and guava juice. And when they learn that everyone else has collectively brought a few finger-sandwiches, some Doritos and a bag of Oreos, they are understandly quite traumatized. And that's not even the worst part for them, it's when it's time to go home and the host doesn't insist that they take 2-3 heaping plates with them!
So if you meet a Hawaiian up here in the continental US, please, you gotta remember to work with us...baby steps.
Friday, August 12, 2005
This is because I really need more sports bras from the Nike Outlet. I figure if he drives me to the mall in his gas-guzzling car ($25 worth of gas), and then we get lunch afterwards ($35), then it will really make those two Nike sports bras a real steal at $15 each! I would bite the bullet and get a less expensive brand, but I tried that once and it didn't work out so well. I found these neat underwire ones for only $8 each at Target and promptly bought eight of them. I was so proud of my thriftiness until I noticed after 1-2 washings that the underwire on each bra had poked right through the fabric! Damn those lazy Honduran children! I was so disgusted I threw them all away, but my mother saw them in the trash and surprised me by reinforcing each and every one by hand.
I felt like a sweat shop owner after that, which made me flash back to the many years my poor, well-intentioned mother drove me to my weekly 4-H club meetings. Every year there was a fashion show where we kids would all proudly model our newly-sewn creations... Well, some of us anyway. Every year I showed absolutely zero interest in the project (hey man...Diff'rent Strokes was on!) and would wait until the night before to take out the fabric and then stare dumbly at it.
After watching me scowl and butcher everything, being the good Japanese mother that she is, my mother would basically end up having to take over and sew the rest of the outfit for me. I really didn't enjoy 4-H and it's pretty obvious that my 8-9 years in the club cannot really be considered a success when I all I have to show for it is the ability to sew a button back on a shirt and make spaghetti (provided I am given the sauce).
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
"Dawn...LOVE the new design for the Out of the Box Recycled. Somehow you chose just the right colors. They evoke creativity, yet 'earth friendliness.' Unfortunately, I am Mother Earth Public Enemy #1. Where you are conscientiously saving little scraps and reusable items, I am obsessively throwing them away.
In my pitiful defense, I was this way from birth. I was the obsessive 5-year old who had to line everything up on her dresser to face front (I could have had a promising future stocking shelves at Ralphs). I was also the troubled child who had to redo her entire homework paper if I erased too hard and ripped a small hole in the paper (this was obviously pre-Sanrio eraser days...since we all know Hello Kitty erasers rocked in comparison to the red rubber erasers). Anyway, I am excited to see what you'll come up with on the new venture!"
This is all very troubling information about my past, I know, but very true. I am anal. Anal to the core, damnit! Hey, that sounds like a great name for my first band. "Whaaaassup, Miamiiiiii?! Give it up for ANAL TO THE CORE!!!!" Raaaaaah!!!
If you are not sure if you're anal, take my simple little test:
1. Do you find yourself stopping to pick up little pieces of lint or other crap off the floor?
2. Do you gripe to your partner whenever they fail to close the shower curtain? or when they don't put the scissors away in the right place?
3. Is your clothes closet organized by color and/or season?
4. Have you been told that you fold your laundry like they do at the Gap?
5. Do you color code things?
6. Do you have all of your canned goods with the labels facing forward? Worse still, do you put the older canned goods up front, and the newer ones in the back? (Tsk tsk if you do that one...)
If you've answered 'yes' to at least 3-4 of those questions, I hate to break it to you people, but you could be in my band- Anal to the Core. I am afraid that while I do all of the above, even I am too lazy to do number six. HOWEVER, I do make an exception for cereal boxes. This is because I am married to Jerry Seinfeld. Roy has at any given moment in time- no less than 15 boxes of cereal. I have to organize them by expiration date or it's easy to let one get old.
All right. Enough. I am clearly bored. I need to go to bed. I have to get up at 5am tomorrow. It's what we Californians do to shave 30 seconds off our 90 minute commute each day.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Late last night I got word that our land deal in Hawaii is unlikely to go through. I have a few last ditch efforts in the works that might be able to increase the dwindling odds in our favor, but I have a good feeling it's not gonna happen. When I said the odds were "50-50" last week, really, I was being modest. At that time, it was 90% 'gonna happen,' I was just trying not to get my hopes up.
TOO LATE. In my head, I'd already mentally built and designed the house, imagined myself hosting family parties, etc. For me, the purchase represented (and I really don't give a damn how cheesy and cliched this sounds because I'm too depressed to care) my hopes and dreams for the future. I knew that no matter what happenned between now and age 99, I was gonna be okay, because I had 'the land.' And now I don't. How will I feed my children?!!! (....this is NOT the time to point out that I don't have any.)
After we got the news, I couldn't sleep. I laid in bed for a long, long time. Roy said he was very upset too. But this is how our conversation went once we got into bed around 11:00:
Josie: I'm so bummed. I'm gonna have trouble sleeping tonight just thinking about how I'll never get an opportunity like this again...sniffle.
Roy: Yeah...me too...I...uh...zzzz.
Great Roy. Thanks for the comfort. Now we're contemplating pulling our wee little house off the market there because we don't want to have nothing there. But I don't want to screw over our agent. He's gone above and beyond for us.
Since I'm already in a bitter mood, I need to whine about one more thing- I am so tired of reading that water is a natural appetite suppressant. I have no doubt that it is, and that people often mistake thirst for hunger. But I gotta tell ya, I drink 10+ cups of water per day and I am still famished. I bet if I ever see a starving child in Africa and offer them a nice tall glass of water or some curly fries, they're going for those curly fries. Speaking of which, god bless curly fries. And God bless Pringles too. Are they not the most delicious foods on Earth?
Monday, August 08, 2005
Back to my previous topic...though our electric bill has tripled to about $100 a month, this pales in comparison to the $350/month electric bill that my poor parents get every month in Hawaii (and this does not even reflect the increase they'll pay in summer). Cripes. They're not extravagant with their usage either. But since no one is Hawaii with a home 10+ years old has central air conditioning, they are forced to run individual A/C units and fans.
I would pass on my secret 'tips' for lowering an electric bill to them, but trust me when I say they're only appropriate when you are ALONE in the house...and have very few mirrors. Plus they're my parents for crying out loud. Who tells their parents to strip down? I mean besides Appalachians and extremist Mormons. HARDY HAR HAR HAR!
Anyhoo, we were supposed to go to a pool party this weekend that got cancelled, so we briefly contemplated heading to our own Association pool for the first time this summer. We opted not to because during summer vacation there tends to be a lot of these screeching, floating obstacles in it (I've been told they're called "children") that sometimes poop in it and close it down for an hour. HYUK! HYUK !HYUK!
Since I am once again being mean toward kids, I'd like to clarify one point so that I am not taken for a complete insensitive, selfish a** clown (I really wanted to find a way to use the word 'a** clown', now I'm happy)- I actually like most children. I feel very bad for parents who are struggling with crying children in airplanes, restaurants, and grocery stores.
Believe it or not, I, the anti-procreator, was once right there with them. Because I had a much younger brother, I distinctly remember having to juggle my purse, diaper bag, stroller and sipper cup, while simultaneously trying to restack the rolls of toilet paper that he just pulled down with one hand and fishing a foreign object out of his mouth with the other.
Here's what gets me- it's when parents don't do anything about their out of control children. It's when they deliberately ignore their child and play deaf/dumb...it's when their kid has kicked my chair for the 80th time in four minutes and mom doesn't once say "Don't kick the chair, Junior." It's when I see parents letting their kids open toys at Wal Mart and then turn the other way so they can have a few more uninterrupted minutes on their cell phone.
I know I'm not a perfect care giver either. I've let my little brother go where he shouldn't, touch something he shouldn't have, and wearily let a few things slide that I had no energy to address. But by and large, if he made a mess, I scraped his fries off the ground. If he howled on an airplane I carried him, read to him, or brought out his crayons. I shushed him when he innocently started talking during a movie and apologized profusely when he would run into people.
Trust me, I only feel rage and want a child banished to Outer Mongolia when their parents are being careless and inconsiderate. I have the same rage toward people who walk their dogs without a leash. Inevitably Fluffy will rocket toward me at 75 mph so he can hump my leg and leave paw prints all over my white t-shirt while their owner smiles apologetically and calls out, "Don't worry...he won't bite!" You better hope he doesn't bite or you're gonna have to use the jaws of life to remove my own teeth off of Fluffy's neck, 'cause I do.
Why do some dog owners think it's okay to let their dogs bark and charge at perfect strangers? Here's a newsflash- I don't care if your dog is blind, toothless or just being playful- if he runs at me or barks at me I will nearly crap myself and possibly drop dead from pure terror. The only exception to this rule is when your dog is the size of football and I know I can kick him like a 30-yard field goal before he can sink his jaws into my supple flesh. Thanks to Paris Hilton and little Tinkerbell, this size of dogs has substantially increased over the years, so the streets are a bit safer.
Friday, August 05, 2005
My day was great because despite inhaling obscene amounts of local food at Big Island Grill every other day last week, I still lost 2 more pounds at my monthly Curves weigh-in today! Yowsa. That means I've lost about 15 pounds over the last four months, and am halfway to my goal of being at my pre-marriage weight (and believe you me, I was already slightly chubby then, so this will not make me skinny).
Normally I wail to everyone within earshot at the office about how nervous I am about my weigh-in that day. I usually moan melodramatically throughout the day and force everyone to focus entirely on me and my weight issues (personally, I don't think their work duties should ever interfere with my personal issues). Today, however, I was completely mum on the subject because I was sure I had gained weight and didn't want to look like an a**. In any case, I am stoked. I will keep you posted, because I am am sure that just like my coworkers, you are also consumed with interest by my weight loss goals.
I bet at some point you have asked yourself, how does this nice Roy fella tolerate all of his wife's self absorbtion and neediness? Hmm, good question. One that I definitely can't answer. However, I must point out that Roy himself is not perfect. No, no, no...faaaar from it. In fact, I must finally break my silence on one of Roy's true character flaws.
His flaw actually relates to why Roy also had a great day...he just got offered a desirable weekend bartending shift that he's wanted for a while now. Since you're probably wondering why this is a character flaw, I'll tell you- Roy used to be a substance abuse counselor. In the mental health facility of a hospital). And he's currently studying to become a psych nurse so that he can return to counseling the poor, substance-abusing addicts again (albeit this time for more money). This would be the second time in his "professional career" that Roy has done such a thing!
WHO THE HELL counsels alcoholics by day and then serves them up tall boys at night?!?! As we say in the islands, this is definitely not pono (right).
So you see, I am married to a money whore. I suffer too... I am...a victim. Keep me in your prayers.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Yesterday (our last day in Hawaii) Roy got up early and made me a special birthday breakfast- mangoes, kiwi, papaya and guava cheesecake. It was a nice way to end an otherwise pretty hectic week in the islands.
To make a long story short, we ended up deciding to sell our home there and put an offer on a piece of land there. If all goes well (and it's 50-50 at this point), we may become the proud owners of a 2-acre parcel overlooking Kealakekua Bay. There is even a 1.5 mile trail right next to the property that leads straight down to the ocean! While this brings us endless amounts of joy, we are now forced with having to dig through other people's trash for kitchen scraps until it's paid off (why people would throw away week-old beef tongue is a mystery to me! Yummy).
What I am most excited about is being able to farm the land. Yeeeeesss that's right, I said "farm the land." I want to grow apple bananas, mangoes, oranges, macadamia nuts, and roast our own homegrown 100% pure Kona coffee. As I like to say, people in Kona grow two things- either produce or weed. Since the latter one would land me in prison (and I already have enough prison tats), I'm going with the fruit.
The only downside to all of this excitement is that the empty lot below ours is home to a cell phone tower...a tower that to me, is of Eiffel Tower-proportion. We are *hoping* that in ten years those monstrosities will be replaced by satellites and become obsolete. If not, my brother Joseph has assured me that it's very possible he could 'accidentally' knick the bottom of the tower with his chain saw, thereby causing it to collapse. Hmm...I like it.
For the rest of the trip I tried to spend time with my two nephews, Kenny & Ricky. Kenny absolutely kills me. As many young children do, he spent most of his time reciting the same phrase over and over again. Unfortunately for me, this phrase happenned to be (taken from his favorite DVD about a dog named Kipper) , "Ouch!!! Ouch!!! Be careful!!!"
If I so much as brushed up against him, tried to hold his hand, or rubbed sunscreen on his back- he would smile and howl at the top of his high-pitched little lungs, "Ouch!!! Ouch!!! Be careful!!!
He thought it was hysterical. Everyone else would stop what they were doing to swivel around and glare at me- the sick child abuser.