Right Brain Exercise

One thing that I find myself doing before telling any current information is tell a backstory. Maybe I just like the sound of my own voice, maybe I want to be understood, maybe I just think that I've seen/done a lot of crap. Today's backstory leads to last night and it's about art.

When I was in the 5th grade, the art teacher Miss Gerkin (I don't remember her name, but this will suffice. All I remember clearly is that she was young, not pretty with strange moles on her face, and could easily pass for the Wicked Witch of the West -- any other individual that went to Philip Murray Elementary School with me will agree. Plus, I like gerkins and they have weird bumps on them, too) asked me if I wanted to join up with weekend classes at the Carnegie Museum. The classes were limited to a few hand-selected kids that excelled in art and would be free to those that were chosen from submitted works. Miss Gerkin sent in some of my stuff, of which I do not remember/know, and I got a letter of acceptance. I was the only kid from my school that was welcome to attend. And so began my "formal" training.
Feeling out of sorts, I would sit on the cold marble floors of the Carnegie with 20odd other children and let my mind emerge onto paper or whichever medium we would explore for the week. We made pottery, drew with pencil, painted on easels, sketched with conti-crayons. All these things were far beyond anything we were doing back at Philip Murray, and though I didn't feel quite as confident about my work as some of the other kids seemed to be - I was exposed to things with which I may not have otherwise been.



When it came time to decide where I would go to middle school, it seemed that I had only one option which was to follow the direct path to Knoxville Middle School with the rest of the degenerates from not only my school, but two other elementary buildings. That is, until a neighbor mentioned that her grandchild went to a special school because he could sing. Then it came to be that his twin brother+sister would be attending the same school for their talents (singing/music). With PJ (the older sibling) as a reference, and a good one at that, I opted to sign-up for Rogers CAPA (Creating and Performing Arts) Middle School, then located in the not-so-safe neighborhood of Homewood. To "try out," I had to draw a list of things and integrate them into one picture. I remember using pencil on an 8.5x11 and the list included a building and a helicopter. I thought it was weird, I thought it wasn't very good, but lo and behold I was accepted.

Again, I was the only kid from my elementary school to go to this new place. And feeling out of sorts, I would get on the bus with other 6th, 7th, and 8th graders from the South Hills and travel to the ghetto for school. The Visual Arts class for 6th graders was less than 20. We had 8 girls in our class (I can still remember their names: Me, Nikki, Nicole, Jessica, Megan, Adrienne, Molly, and Caroline). We were all from different backgrounds and all had different technique to our talent. Our general education wasn't very strong, but the visual arts classes were focused on very much. Where gen ed classes took up the majority of the day, each art class took up half the day and we had art class three days a week. They then split up the art classes into three sections (while the rest of the classes were divided into the regular 4 semesters): computer graphics, figure drawing, and ceramics. Mouse Paint, 8headed people (the distance from top of your head to your waist is four heads, the distance from your knee to the ground is four heads, etc), and pottery. Again, I didn't feel quite as confident about my work as some of the other kids seemed to be - I was exposed to things with which I may not have otherwise been. We painted the window blinds for the main art "homeroom" with various mythological creatures, and I remember painting Medusa's skin purple (not my idea).

The school year ended and I left Rogers. I didn't get along with the other children and didn't want to get beat up every day - which was beginning to happen after being shoved into a locker and getting a titty-twister. But I did keep up with my Saturday morning classes at the Carnegie all the while (turned out, if I stayed, then tuition was free as long as I went to a Pittsburgh Public School).

For 7th grade, I transferred to a catholic school that was 3 doors away from my house. My parents paid for the classes at the Carnegie. Here and there, I would still draw, but it wasn't until I got into 8th grade, switched to the afternoon classes at the Carnegie, then in 9th grade took Visual Arts 2 (skipping the beginners section). A girl named Lori was in the same class and was also taking the classes at the Carnegie, so we were like partners. It was good to have a friend to share the creations with.

At Carrick High, we sketched figure drawings, did scratch art, painted, and made those boxes where you do all kinds of weird stuff to the inside and cover the box, then look through a hole in the side (I forget what they are called at the moment). At home at night, I would put on my walkman CD player and listen to Marilyn Manson while sketching pictures of him and the band, drew cartoons of them. I was also a fan of Brad Pitt at the time, so I drew pictures of him and made his abs 10x better than they were on the cover of Rolling Stone.







In 10th grade, I took Art 3. I don't remember much. It was the last of the classes that I took. Over the years, I would draw here and there (mostly figure drawings and portraits), but art seemed to lack in luster and my tools disappeared along with my mind.





Beginning with the sketches that I penciled for John back in Feb/March, it became clear to me that once I got going the old right-brain skills that I once exercised quite frequently would gather up and become visible. People would often tell me "Why don't you draw?" but something held me back. The sketches for John were just for fun, I would tell myself, that I didn't want to have to sit there and draw all the time just because someone told me to, or thought I was good.

One day I got an idea that the Tiki Guys that I drew for Anthony, John's brother, should become a painting. I set a goal that I wanted to paint them on canvas with acrylic (a medium that I never used before) and went to the craft store. There was a never-ending 40% off sale on the canvas with which I took full advantage and "stocked up" on 5 pre-stretched boards. I bought beginner paints and brushes, frightened that I would end up letting them go to waste should I invest in better quality. It would have to do.

The first day, I drew a basic placement of the dudes and began working on the "mean one" that evening. I had the base down and got comfortable with the brush in my hand and working the paint. For the next few weeks, I would sit for a little and bit by bit, the painting came to life (with my iPod on, mostly the same song by The Prodigy called Warrior's Dance. This was also one of the songs that I would put on repeat while I ran from the apartment to the fountain halfway to Diamond Head at the end of Kapiolani Park).



The guys each have different things that I thought would personalize their features. The Haole Huntah (green) is angry and is carrying both a torch and a spear-like weapon that is covered in teeth. The grass skirt pulled him together, I used a character on a Disney Nintendo game, Magical Quest for reference from memory. Da Kine Bruddah is smoking a doob with the state fish jumping around his inner tube.

With canvas on stock, I painted a few gradient backgrounds and began to slap things on them. All three paintings traveled with me from Hawaii. A jellyfish is still in the works, along with a bunch of sloppy metallic painted herring that will probably be seconds away from consumption by a whale (both currently sitting at John's mom's house). The last two didn't feel right for me, they just "didn't do it." I needed more and I needed a reason to paint again.

So being that we crashed at Virg's house (John's gram) and she made us coffee every morning, set up a little apartment for us, and made us feel right at home I naturally wanted to make something for her. Since she's a grandma and all grandma's collect things, I started paying attention to the little things that she decorated the house with. One thing that was a common theme: hummingbirds. BINGBINGBING!

Day One, I penciled the basic placement of the bird and paired it with another, albeit a flower (bird of paradise). Dissatisfied, I re-drew the things and made them bigger to create less background/negative space. Dilligently, while listening to the As I Lay Dying discography (with this song and this song on repeat a few times), I painted the flower first making as smooth a texture as I could. Last night, the bird came to be with surprising ease. I'm not sure if I simply have an affinity to feathers (being that I have more than I can count tattooed on me) but the bird emerged onto the canvas with little effort. Confident, pleased, I created a center burst of light and faded it outward to yellows and oranges to create a sun-lighting effect and slapped on my insignia for the final touch.







FINAL:



I know Virg will love it.

With these, I'm not sure where I'm going or what I'm doing. Initially, my burst of motivation came from the fact that I was bored and I figured that if I was going to sit on my ass I should get off the computer and do something with my hands that would be more satisfying than online "Bundy shopping" (look at everything, try it on, touch it - but don't buy it!). Fact is, I AM satisfied with having sat on my ass and to have created this thing. This STUFF.

Coastin'

It's been a tad over 2 weeks since John and I have reluctantly returned to our hometown. To answer the standard questions: Yes, it's cold enough for us; Yes, we miss Hawai'i; Yes, we plan on finding another place to go; Yes, its nice to see yinz guys again.

We came in on a Wednesday having just hopped from HNL to PHX (next to the exit door, which was very loud and rather nippy), had a quick bite and coffee, then PHX to PIT with very few zzzz's in between. Technically, we'd been up for almost a day straight and landed in 50* weather that greeted us with the immediate need for pants (PANTS?!?!). My dad scooped us from the airport and we FILLED his truck with our bags, had to detour around every area of town to avoid traffic/construction (as is Pittsburgh), and finally got to the quaint neighborhood of Munhall. We set up shop in his gram's basement gameroom, shoveled food in our faces, and took the first showers where we kept the door shut to prevent cold air from flowing in the bathroom.

Again, I need to stress on the term immediate for need of pants. I admittedly grumbled about the collection of hoodies that occupied (no kidding) one entire suitcase, not to mention the 30-odd pairs of sneakers between the two of us. However, one full day in Pittsburgh proved that our shopping had not, in fact, been in vain because we needed those hoodies/pants/sneakers immediately.

The ringing in our ears on the first night is all to blame on the exit row seats, but it was our own damn fault for jumping right into seeing a metal show the following day. Hot dang, Between the Buried and Me was worth it. That night, we also posted up at one of our favorite food places, The Library, and with their half-priced appetizers there's nothing not to love! Nothing tastes better than sweet-fries, nomnomnom and mmmmmmgood.

While the taller figure has been burying his arms elbow deep in re-building his Jeep (with good reason, no less), I've still been transferring those goofy hand-written journals from years ago. This time, I'm on what I call "The Vermouth Book" due to the Martini&Rossi image on the cover. The book opened with an incident revolving around the first removal of tissue on my foot in a vigorous battle I've had with re-occurring plantar warts and travels through my first few attempts at sobriety, all while dating a douchebag. Still, I find myself quite the dreamer using any chance to create images from fancy verbage in order to cover-up my internal struggle with creating myself. At that point in my life, I think I was falling in love with everyone and everything around me, thinking it was love, and realizing that I was just dating a douchebag all the while. AA seemed to touch my soul in a very prominent manner and on a few occasions I'd toss around experiences that reminded me of myself after listening in on a speaker meeting. I'd toss around the G.O.D. term (i.e.: Good Orderly Direction), which I acquired in AA and have since used to define my religious views in a nutshell, though I'm still quite Catholic, laddamercy. Also while reading this book, I've come to see how blinded I easily became to what is truly important in a young adult's life simply by paying attention to having been paid attention to. My social life often got the better of me. I'd relapse, I'd get down on myself and find myself alone in self-loathing and in grand retrospect - that's just no way to live. I see these things now and realize how vital it is to apply them to my life now in order to be more fulfilled. They are important lessons which I often lose track of as the days go by and still see the same behavioral patterns in myself. As my dear "seesur" often reminds me, I must love myself first in order for anyone to love me back. I must look in to me.

This brings me to what I'm reading.

Years ago, the aforementioned dear seesur sent me a book. I was living in Columbus, OH in a small apartment with my 5ft pet ball python and drinking myself into repeating the same drunk-driving mistake over and over when a package arrived from Amazon.com. Inside was the book Conversations with God, and was the first installment of Neale Donald Walsh's "trilogy" about a man who, you guessed it!, is having an ongoing conversation with the Big Man Upstairs. The ordinary guy was going through a rough time like all humans do and upon writing questions to himself on a notepad began to have answers come to him. And so it goes that God speaks to the man and through a conversational-style dialogue the book continues and carries the reader through enlightenment simply by learning to love himself because that's what God wants you to do. The guide explains the difference between the two key emotions that every human feels (love and fear), what relationships are all about (loving yourself, duh), and so on. Death, money, politics, and Jesus himself is made mention. This book is safely conducted without throwing Bible-vocab at the reader and gently causes one to reflect, to look inward, and to love.
Oddly enough, I was reading CWG2 when I was writing in "The Vermouth Book" and upon the decision to wave aloha to our life in Hawai'i came CWG3 falling into my lap. This book discusses universal truths; currently I'm reading through a section about the after-life. Seems that life and death are much in the same in that things happen if you want them to happen. Recently, much in part due to the whirlwind of events that have come upon my fiance and I, I have been getting stuck in my head. The book is helping me to change my perspective in that I must remember that if I want our time in Pittsburgh to suck: it very well WILL.
Thanks, seesur.

Couple of months ago, I was ranting off about my spa-job and boldly stated that I missed working at Piper's Pub and openly thanked my boss, Drew, for being awesome. Not once did I re-think about sending him a message to have me back at the Pub for our stay in Yinzerville, and with open arms he did. I've loved seeing the Pub Family again, and its warms my heart that the place hasn't changed other than it got better. Maybe it was my year away from the service industry? maybe its just a better Pub? Who cares! Having been asked to work a benefit for Gilda's Club alongside Drew, I got a great glance at what it takes to be a better person just by talking to women in fur coats who shopped for Coach purses at Saks Fifth Ave all in the name of a cancer research organization. Drew has a bigger heart that I can draw, and people really appreciate when you support them by showing up. Drew also may or may not have slipped in a compliment in my direction which helped me to better realize that simply by showing up at the Pub and doing my job, I'm a good person. It may seem silly to say, but I know that I'll always feel right at home at the little spot on Carson and that's perfectly okay with me.

Clocking in for the first time in nearly a year, I was greeted by seeing my maiden name pop up on the computer terminal. This meant that I truly needed to get on the ball and get things in order. Today included a trip to the DMV where after 2 hours, I was handed a new ID card with my maiden name on it. I cannot describe how relieved I am to be sitting at my parent's dining room table and crossing off places where I get to reclaim my maiden name again (until the tall-one and I get shit together and I have to repeat the process, harharhar).

The long and short of it is... I'm coastin' by. Pittsburgh may not be my desired place to be right now after life's recent curveballs, but if I just ease back and look inward... it's all smooth sailing in the grand scheme of things. Even if it's miserable outside.

The Truth Has No Photos

For the last 4 months, John and I have been doing what everyone else in the country has been doing: working and trying to squeeze in as much time to enjoy ourselves (together) as possible. Sometimes it would work out to our benefit, other times it did not. My camera collected dust, he lost the tanline from his surf leash. My freckles disappeared, the truck had less miles driven. Company came and went: Anth, Evan (for the 2nd time this year). Mom+Dad came in. The other Mom+Dad came in with a cousin in tow. For a while, having the bunch of 'yinz' here with us was a little dream of mine. I'd hoped for many months that the group of us would be in Hawaii together so that we wouldn't have to plan another trip for everyone and we could just wing it, tie the knot, call it a day, but still have our parents here with us for it.

But that's where the fun stopped.

If I were to type out a flow chart, the decend went like this: economy>tourism>ownership>accountability>pay. Beginning in January, the newspapers had been reporting that tourism was down 12% from last year; for Hawaii, that's HUGE. The entire island, whether the local kines want to believe it or not, is dependant on tourism and the money that outside people spend. Vacation packages, pineapple coffee mugs, model submarine ships, tshirts with shakas, surfboards, surf everything, bottles of sand that is supposed to be from the North Shore but really isn't (we all know that there is no hot pink sand on Sunset Beach), shave ice, and the 5c deposit on every soda can/bottle you can find - it all started to cost too much for folks to come and visit this paradisaical island. So began the suffering of the local business, one would have to be mighty creative in order to push their product, up the sale. The spa where I work had opened another location (the only Aveda salon in Waikiki) which should have easily increased the client number - but with service price so high and the folks that still don't tip their technicians - our client numbers didn't increase and our technicians started looking for new jobs. The front desk hours were cut, the guy that came to resurface the stone floor was owed $500, you get the picture. Same with John's company. This, that, and the other was making it harder and harder for us to make money and come home to one another, figure out an activity for the day, then to canoodle on the couch in bliss. Instead, we'd grumble and clench our teeth, take out our frustrations from everywhere else on one another, and there you have it. We were starting to realize our unhappiness. WTF?

Something wasn't right. We didn't deserve to be unhappy. Not this early in our relationship, not in this place. It was unfair to ourselves to be so wrapped up in the stresses of our jobs, it was unfair to each other for us to bring these home to one another, and it was more unfair for us to carry them into our daily lives to the point where (no kidding) we barely had anything to talk about. We didn't have days off together, we worked different hours. We were starting to really worry about money. Then like magic, $1600 was taken from John's pay right when his parents left and mine arrived in town. It was the 15th. Rent is due on the 1st. Even with my upcoming paycheck, there was no way we could make rent and make our bills. John's job = dunzo and in turn, so would be our stint in Hawaii.

There you have it. We're coming back to Pittsburgh next week.

Even though it will be temporary and will last only until we figure out the next move, I'm deathly afraid. The talk of the G20 and the terrible lies that it is forcing the city to enact is disgusting. The long-lost practice of wearing shoes will once again be enforced. Hoodies. Jackets. I'm dreading the threat of a scarf.
Moreso than anything, I know that my friends have changed. For the 10months I've been living elsewhere, I've bitten my tongue. Almost everyone has forgotten that I exist. There were, at best, five people that would touch base with me. Its rather perplexing that by slightly mentioning something in a sentence fragment on Faceboook, I've had more inquiries about the "move back" than ever before. Why do you care? Why didn't you care when I left? Why didn't you call or write me back? You're fair weathered sports fans and fair weathered friends, that's how you've presented yourselves. It's obvious to me that you just didn't care, and that really really fucking hurt.

Being with John has been... well, I can't seem to find words. It's just right. My pure opposite blended into just my type. He balances me, challenges me, and loves me back. There's more I can say but it doesn't matter to anyone other than us, really.
Coming clear across the world and leaving the only thing knew behind (just like he did) was, again, another wonderful thing. There has been something magical about this place. The smell, the sounds, the tastes, everything. IT balanced me out, IT challenged me, IT loved me back.

I quit smoking, I tried foods that I'd only seen on TV and otherwise thought were weird or disgusting. I stood on a piece of foam on top of moving water and tried to surf (meanwhile, my skateboard back in Pittsburgh has done nothing but collect dust in the last 12yrs of owning it). I wasn't afraid to go to the gym and lift something a little heavier, that took confidence that I've never had before. I haven't gotten tattooed since January because I just don't know what to do with this mess of blobs on my arm. I haven't had a haircut since the trecherous freak-mullet that was cut into my hair the night before I left Pittsburgh (it wasn't an intentional mullet, and trust me, I've been complaining about how much I hate that it happened since it happened). I don't know what's in style for fashion because I haven't had to care: I wear a bikini, shorts, and tank tops every day. I don't drink anymore, I don't even remember what any of it tastes like nor do I care to remember. I picked up a paintbrush and decided to create something on canvas that I saw inside my head for the first time since I was a sophomore in high school.
I think while I lived in Hawaii, I created the ME that I've always wanted to be.

I don't want to leave here. There's nothing in Pittsburgh for me anymore, other than just the presence of my family and the familiarity of street signs.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSH!!

Alrighty roo.

It's my day off and I'm claiming today all for myself. Tell you what, having a full time job with normal hours has really set up a lot of detours just in everyday living. I'm still up at the buttcrack of dawn with John, but an hour later when he's out the door is when my day begins. Hurryshowerfixfaceandhair in 45minutes, walk 20, and the workday begins. It ends exactly 9hours later, sometimes more with little downtime, several days without lunch, and texting?checking personal email? fuggetabbahttit.
So today, Courtney is outside on the lanai getting a special growing-boost of sun (she's my science experiment, remember?), I'm blogging, running, and sitting by the water in the direct sunlight for as long as possible. It's a cardinal rule that I cannot be pale and live in Hawaii. This means that I'm hoping hoping hoping that I don't get a call from work (usually happens) and I'm not expected to be inside the apartment to handle its upkeep.

John likes to keep the bedroom at a crispy 62degrees at all times, so the ACunit gets its workout. Not suddenly, but it seems that its been going on for a little too long. Rust has formed on the entire outside and INSIDE of the unit, its spurting flecks of water, and its dripping. But wait! There's more! The water is somehow leaking into our bedroom. Its not coming from the wall, its not coming from the interior part of the ACunit; we noticed it through the freakin' caaaaaarrrrppettttt. Imagine, waking up to a soggy step into thick used-to-be-light-tan wool woven carpet, and whats worse is the smell. The smell was so bad that John swore it was the stash of slippahs (flip flops) we have at the entrance to the apartment, I disagreed. Boldly, I charged into the bedroom, got to my knees, and purposely faceplanted my nose directly into the carpet. Instantaneous regret. As I quickly got to my feet and gagged down a lump of disgust, I pointed out "It's not the slippahs," realizing that I had almost vomited. The apartment doesn't smell, but this stuff did, BAD.

The building manager's interest in solving the problem wasn't very convincing but on Tuesday, we finally got the maintenance guy to come and look at the AC unit attached to the bedroom wall. Lariano showed just before 10am and went outside to the lanai. At first, I watched as he stared at it. I hope he was hesitating, because the clunker was wet, dripping, rusted, and chugging loudly as it ran. The guy kinda hammered at some things, and for a while looked like he was trying to pry at it with a screwdriver, but after a good 30minutes he came into the apartment and asked if I would be home because he wanted to come back. I bargained into being home at 1pm and dipped to the lanai to peek his handywork. This included some clear caulking at the front rusted corner, and moving two buckets underneath the ACunit to catch the now-dripping-much-faster water.
[fast forward an hour when I realized that I left my keys at work the day before, and couldn't go out anywhere without access to the house - which wouldn't be a big deal if I didn't have to be back by 1pm for Lariano to do more "fixing"... so I ran to work, was confronted with a new issue with a shipment of inventory, nearly got suckered into standing to listen to solutions, and then returned home]
Lariano ran an hour late for our date - I was beginning to think that he had stood me up. I had taken a piece of canvas outside to draw (pre-painting) and was missing an opportunity to be doing something else and was beginning to get pissed off in that it was my day off and I had been indoors all day. AND that the bucket outside was already 3inches full of water. But when Lariano showed up, my temper boiled. He put more (white) colored caulking on the wall, this time beside the ACunit so that it wouldn't leak into the house that way. I suppose? And then I confronted him. "What about the rust? What about it spitting out water onto the wall like that? Why is it dripping so much?" He somehow pulled together an excuse that sounded like "It's condensation. I'll build you a basin another day, to drain the water" in his broken English and left. Just like that.

Today, here you go. Our lanai and the mess.









(more photos here)

Yay. Just joy & rapture. The building manager should shove the tube of caulking right up his ass. The rent is too high for THAT kind of problem with the ACunit, don't you think?
And Yankee candles smell wonderful, but are too expensive to cover up the smell of the carpet.
To do list: confront building manager about situation. Again.

[pause in blog to run around the aquarium. literally.]
Realization #43. I'm getting fat. Not right now, but I will be in no time if I don't start moving around enough to break a sweat. If my skin goes floppy, I'm going to look hideous with all these goofy drawings on my skin (recently, I told an old man "I got drunk at a party and fell asleep, when I awoke, this is what happened!"). Carefully, I "no"-ed to about 16 pair of Nike Shox before I was okay with a Boys' Size 3.5 Turbo 9. I wanted the ones that don't look like running shoes (kind've like saddle-shoes), but the all black swift pair that cost me $97 are bouncy and indeed, magical.
The very next morning, neither John nor I had to be at work until (a much later than usual) 9:00am. He went surfing out in front, I went for a run. And by run I mean that I, who once smoked for 12 years at the average frequency of a pack a day, jogged along Kalakaua Avenue, cut off at the surfer-guy statue to the path along the beach, circled around the Waikiki Aquarium, then back along Kalakaua to our cross street intersection WITHOUT STOPPING. What did I tell you, magic shoes.

We went to the gym the other day and lifted biceps and triceps. I'm still sore from it (because I'm a sissified girl who never really focused on that stuff), but I had to make it a rule to not be fat. I can't be. Working out really sucks and its stupid to have to repeatedly lift and carry around weird objects so you don't get soggy. Its dumb to run around in circles until you sweat so you don't droop. But you gotta. Operation:GoAwayFlubber has begun.

Note: Eating is HARD WORK when you're trying to not be fat. Its especially hard when eating RIGHT eliminates some of the fun (you have no idea how badly I crave McDonalds fries every day of my life). But, with a little TLC and patience, dinner ain't so bad when it's these fantabulous nom-nomnom-lettes with chicken, spinach, and sweaty tomatoes.





And now, I go off to paint. For fun. Photos to come.

Draft One.

For the last ehh.... year? I've been thinking about leaving that website that is home to tattooed/pierced/"different" pin-up girls. Maaaaaaan. I'm no pin-up. I don't even think I would have this crap on me if it weren't for the wrong introduction to the wrong people. Smacking myself in the head for some of these things is a hard thing to admit, but its true.

Theeeennn... I went off to get out of town and do something, ended up shooting two more photosets. One of which I still have yet to see a little sneak-peek, its been about 10 months. Originally, I wanted to submit them and see if I could make the cash back from the work I did (i.e.: freelance modelling is the "new way" of the website's purchasing structure) - but the one was free game for 8months too long and I pulled it down.

I've been frustrated but have managed to remain patient while asking for the remaining photos. At this point it's been about a 4 month waiting period. So I'm still floating around this website, but haven't really interacted all that much lately. Maybe I'm just "over it?"

Whatever the case, I started composing a "Goodbye Letter," even though I may not post it... I just wanted to share it here. Many people won't even know what I'm talking about (which is fine), but I feel obligated to get this off my chest somewhere.


Hey guys.

I just want you to know that I'm not archiving or anything, but I just don't feel right sharing so much of my life with the internet-world. I feel like I've done a lot of growing up, and I have to move on. I'll write somewhere else if I want to write, and I feel better if I stop sitting on the computer and start doing things. However, it doesn't mean that I don't want to be here anymore - because being on SG for over 6 years has definitely made such an impact on my life that I don't want to go without.

It's been a real trip, you know. Doing all those nonsensical things for so long... but I could really give a fuck less about taking anymore sets or racing to get tattooed. There are more important things than putting on my face every day. By that I mean... I don't think I would BE who I am today were it not for SG. I've made some damn fine acquaintances on this site, some have my home address and we mail Xmas cards to one another. But I never met you people, we don't see one another regularly so we're not real friends. Isn't that strange? You know where I live but I never met you!

Some people that I met on SG caused me a lot of hurt. And I mean that. I took out time in my life to be in your presence, a person that I know from the internet, and you hurt my feelings? How dare you waste my time like that, or my money, my heart. Shame on you.

So for now, this is it for me blogging and taking sets, but don't worry. I'm still here.



And I'll just leave it at that. Draft One.

Grown Up World

I suppose that I can't say that I wasn't warned. Being a grown-up sucks! WTF is this wake-up at 6am , never knowing when you can eat lunch, can't use your cell phone, can't check your email, I just want it to be before 6pm by the time I get home nonsense? Who are you people that created this unvierse? EW.
That should explain why I don't update, take pictures, post pictures, or call anyone. Not to mention - the wireless internet at our apartment has been wonking out and since we heist it anyways, I can't complain too much. If it appears that I'm falling out of the loop of internet-happenings, I'm just off being an adult. Come to visit if you would like to speak to me before midnight Eastern Standard, k?

We should have internet up and running normally by next week when we get a new cable box. Been kinda using someone else's cable, too. ;)

How's job? Whatever. I really don't like working with a 90% female staff, and I can't explain how much I really and truly miss Piper's Pub for a) the management that cared, b) the dudes, c) the acceptance of people that just "look different." Drew - you have a hell of a place, and you were the best boss/owner I've ever had and I don't think I ever thanked you.

Good news is that we didn't get a nice fat bomb dropped on us by North Korea on the 4th of July, and thankfully we didn't have to watch tsunamis form in the ocean to wash over the entire island. Whew. But I have to admit that the constant posing threat is a little hard to swallow. Especially when I can't check the news, my phone, or the internet for updates while I'm at work. Or home for that matter!

Photos from the fireworks set off at Ala Moana Park, along with a crowd shot:







Bad news is that my homey, MJ died. I'm like, really really sad. I had over 25 texts from people telling me the news. Sick of the jokes, sick of the poking fun... that man was the king of pop. Artists, since he came around, have been doing everything in their power to mimick him. I mean, who wouldn't want a custom Rolls Royce limo with throne-like interior covered in sparkles? who wouldn't want a robot made of their own head? who wouldn't want to walk down a public street in Germany followed by the damn ARMY? Pretty much every performer, I'd say.
So rest in peace, Mike. You'll never ever be topped, and I'm always going to be a fan.

For busy work while the 'nets been shoddy, I've been taking my old journals and typing them out. I picked a random book, which started me in late 2001 when I was just about to move from Pitt's campus back to my parents' house. As I've been keying along, I've been trying as hard as possible not to get sucked into "Holy crap, was I a looney-toon" or to try and figure out why I did/didn't do things. It's certain that I was a lonely girl, that I was very confused and emotional, and just... fell in with a crowd that introduced me to some bad things. Seven years have passed and it's completely NUTS to look back on all these things and to feel rather content that I'm where I am today. Mostly, I just want to magically jump into my journal and hug that little 20-21yr old with the short red hair and tell her that things really will be okay.

John says I'm foolish to do this, but I disagree. I've been wanting to write for such a long time, and what I know best to write about are the things I've seen. Seems best to start somewhere, and I've started with the person in the mirror (yes, that kinda was a little of a MJ lyric, eh?). I just have to be careful not to analyze myself too much. Writer I am, psychiatrist, no.

Time to hit the couch for Season 5 of LOST. Boy is this show weird. Smart, yes. Weird, FOR CERTAIN.

Oh, and PS - "Courtney" is growing just fine. As are my thighs, apparently.

Alone Days

My previous blog was written between visits from one part of the Cenname-family and another. A week after mom+gram came to see us, we were graced with the presence of the one and only Anthony.


Please note Anth's "pressed smile" face. This is his impression of how Juliette, a character on LOST, smiles. It makes me cringe every time I see her weird duckface.

Anth doesn't have copies of the photos in the collage, and I'm going to hold them as ransom until he invites me to his file-sharing network (for torrents) so that his brother and I can truly truly goon out on our newest TVshow addiction.
Back story is that neither John nor myself had ever watched an episode of LOST until we got tired of everyone else talking about it and finally stumbled upon a repeat on G4 and figured that we might as well join the rest of the world in the ever-growing trend of watchers. Our excuse: Why not see how many places we could recognize? Alas, the plan failed and after 3 episodes of Season1 we were hooked. Errrr.. lost.


It's taken a while, diligently watching 1-4 episodes per night, then taking breaks while we had company, sometimes not taking breaks and letting the company watch with their mouths taped shut as to not reveal any information to us - but we finished the DVDs that are out for purchase and have stumbled onto our one and only roadblock. All other roadblocks have since passed us by, meaning that we're all caught up on the things that mom+gram spoiled for us while they were here (ex: how John Locke became paralyzed, the bomb that blew up the boat, and hey! there's a machine that moves the island!).
Now, we need to find someone/somewhere from which to download torrent files for each episode from Season5 (which just ended on TV about a month ago) for us to be 100% caught up with the rest of the world. But I'm guessing that we'll just be more lost-- *snicker*.

That show does nothing but piss off all of its watchers...but its SO GOOD. I should add, however, that yes - we have been able to pinpoint dozens of LOST locations (the blowhole, Mr Paik's workplace, shrimp trucks, and where the "Others" live). Won't spoil it for you, just come and visit to see for yourself. It's impressive how the entire island can be manipulated so that viewers believe various scenes are genuinely in remote settings (Australia, LA). Yep, hooked.

I'm hoping that you followed the link to G4 and have since taken a look at the link to Spaceballs The Animated Series. Mel Brooks is probably pooping with happiness - the movie had marketing within itself, and this series seems to fit just fine. And yes, I want to watch it. Every episode.
Often, as of late, I've been thinking of things that I used to watch as a kid. It's sent me off looking for videos on YouTube of certain cartoons that I loved. These include:

• Lambert the Sheepish Lion was one of my favorite Disney cartoons. I think browsing through the Disney clips took up a good 45 minutes of my life.
• The Raccoons (the character names are the best), to my surprise, was a Canadian show.
• The Hugga Bunch (which was about dolls similar to Cabbage Patch Kids, within whose world one could find the key to eternal youth and a little girl is out to get some in order to save her gram from going to a retirement home) I'm so so so waiting for this to eventually come out onto DVD/BluRay
• Ziggy's Gift
• Garfield's Halloween Special (I loved the pumpkin who cried seeds from his eyes)
• Today's Special
• Pinwheels
• Who can ever forget Picture Pages with Bill Cosby? Mortimer-Ichabod Marker made me want to be an artist.

There was nothing better than Nickelodeon in the 80s, and watching these videos made me appreciate my youth. I'd love to somehow or another get the files for these shows and have them on hand for MY children to watch. I've had two Christmas DVD collections on my Amazon-wishlist for a while because I always miss the Christmas (and Halloween) shows on TV and I'd like to just have them. For the spirit. All of them.
These days, things are too complicated. Classic cartoons have more to offer. They aren't fast, aggressive, or competitive; they're simple and loving.

Speaking of aggressive. Wait, let me back up a second.

Anth's departure flight to ship outta here was in the middle of the day, a time way too inconvenient for John to bother going into work. It's not like he wants to be there in the first place. In order to keep his days balanced (financially), he took that day off and switched it so that he work 4 days, then have off for one (as opposed to the normal 2). Me, on the other hand, did not have that schedule at all.

Work is going fine. I'm glad to be accepted at a place that is rather "upscale" for me - where people that have money spend it on silly things like backrubs and lotion. That's fine if that's what they want to do with their loot, but I think to be seen on a regular basis, you're just spoiling yourself and your money could be used in better ways considering the world in which we live. But. The girls are really nice, and once again I'm opposite of everyone because of my appearance (is this just an insecurity that I'll carry with me forever? does this sound like I'm starting to regret?). I'm catching on relatively fast, I think, by just doing things as they come along voluntarily so that I can learn faster by actually doing it and getting my hands dirty. Photographic memory helps, I have to learn a new operating system with various in's and out's, but have things running smooth in real-life while I'm simultaneously making them run smooth on the computer program. With half a dozen front desk employees, and probably a dozen and a half therapists, estheticians, and nail techs - there can be a lot to juggle for someone that's just coming onto staff. On the contrary, it just doesn't feel all that intimidating to me.

However, the training process is still going. It makes perfect sense not to have a trainee scheduled 10days in a row to get all the t's crossed and i's dotted - you'd be too overwhelmed and information would crossover too much. Consider that, put it into basic terms = I've had a lot of free time on my hands with days off and no John to keep me busy/occupied/whatever.

Which brings me to the book. Warning: nerd.

Years ago, I crossed paths with two people in the same summer who mentioned this book, calling it one of the most amazing things they'd ever read. One person was a meathead from Detroit with lots of tattoos and was a tour-manager for a big emo-rock band. He was the last person I'd expect to even know how to read. The other person was a skinny snotty girl with dishwater hair and too many moles on her face, she worked with me at a pig-restaurant. And by "pig," I mean that meat was chopped, separated, then grilled atop a cherrywood fire. A house-made blend of BBQ sauces was added, a large price, and they even served booze. That job lasted a total four shifts - but I remembered the girl mentioning House of Leaves. Four years later, I bought it.
If you read the book, then you caught that. That I put house in blue, but that's just my way of respecting this book. It has been time consuming, as I'm reading it slow. So slow, its as if I'm silently reading aloud to myself instead of looking at the words. Studying it by (*gasp!*) writing in the margins, taking notes in it, going online to get translations. Going slow, taking my time, being patient because I want to understand this book. I've heard that many people struggle with it - but I won't let that happen. I've been trying to give the book 30minutes of my day, every day (but with rollover minutes haha) so that I can keep at a steady pace and not let it sit for too long. Apparently, that's what happens to the book's... well, I don't know what you'd call him. Author? It's a book about a book written by a blind man about a film documentary that doesn't exist, about a house whose insides are bigger than the outside. It's growing and its dark. So by author, I mean, it's the kid who is putting together the scraps of story that the old blind man had put in a trunk. And while he's putting the pieces together and reading it, he's writing about his life. Now, you have two stories in one. But there's still more than that.
John was disappointed that I started scribbling in it because he would ultimately have to read "three sets of notes" with mine included. Going to have to buy him his own copy. And then I'll simply buy another one of the author's books, which is in the plan. I dare him to read it, and if you haven't then I dare you, too. To get a taste of the creep out, feel free to click here and to be freaked out after having watched the whole thing.

Honestly, another distraction just happened where I got sucked into looking at more videos on the book.
And now that I think about it, I even took a look at this picture and thought about the book:

WOW WOW WEE WOW. I love reading.
I'm glad that I decided to go to school for literature, I'm glad that I dropped out and returned 7years later. I'm glad that I took more literature classes - there's more to a book than just the story. There's always a story about the book, how it came to be, what was going on in the world at the time, and within it would be hundreds and hundreds of voices. Books are artifacts. Don't you love the way that they make a library smell? Don't your ears sing when you open a brand new hardback book for the first time and the spine cracks? Don't you love looking at a book, remembering when you carted it around with you, what you were doing with your life when you were reading it, who you were with, what they were doing with you? Do you ever underline or highlight the important parts? The great one-liners? Do you ever pick up a book with no intention to read it just to look at the highlighted marks?
Fuck. pg99 I want to do that for someone. To someone.

To be considered a state-resident applicant, the University of Hawaii says that you have to have lived on the islands (job, mail, ID, whichever you have documentation of first) for a total of one calendar year. You may begin the next upcoming semester as in-state after that time period has passed. Therefore, the earliest semester I may start as an in-state student is January 2010. Application deadline is the beginning of September of this year. I'd like to polish off these last 7 classes and have a degree. Maybe write. I mean, hell, it worked for this lady, didn't it? And I'm way cuter than her. ;)

Watch this video (yes, Goofy's first words are "on the beach at Waikiki"), then laugh as you imagine me surfing. As of yesterday evening I now have a board. And not only a surf-loving fiance, but one that refuses to let me sit on the beach even with the southern swell. Me = still pretty scared of surfing. Waves on our side of the island = getting pretty big.
I've never been that much of a swimmer. The family pool, sure, but oceans are so different. Currents scare me, so for me to stand on a piece of wood onto of a wave that's almost my size, eep! Call it making excuses, but I think that you'd have to have pretty strong arms to have to constantly paddle into position (whether it be ON the wave, or to get out to the break... which can be the distance of a football field at times). Me, I don't have that kind of arm strength. John paddled FOR ME the first time I went. The 2nd I was better on my own, the 3rd I whined so much about the strong current that I gave up and went back to shore.
But with my own board, I know I'm in for it.

As always, photos are here.

And remember kids,

wtf?

11Day Beach Bum

Allllrighty. Family thing, check. Re-make resume, check. Upload on Monster after going through hell to reactive said account, check. Figure out how to navigate around Flash-run website where you cannot use the (<) and (>) buttons for browse history, incomplete. Lay on beach with Maui Browning Lotion, check. Skin cancer, not yet. Apply for illustrator for children's book, check. Draw specific images for author, not yet (and will I?). Apply for 4 dumb serving positions, reluctant check check check and check. Apply to Apple, check. Gym for cardio, check. Gym to lift leg, chest, then back? Check. Do I still have a tummy pooch? Check. Apply to immediate vicinity job postings, check. Waikiki Plantation Spa receptionist, HIRED.

It was one of the first positions at which I applied, thinking "It would be SO PERFECT to work at a place where the guests come to relax, they immediately appreciate the staff because they're being pampered. It would be SO PERFECT if they were also okay with cartoon-people like me..." then listed numerous reasons aloud to John as to why it would be SO PERFECT, including the 3-blocks-away location, the NONevening hours, and not having to work with indecisive guests and their biohazard.

Was I surprised that I got a call back the next day? Yes, but I knew that was only the beginning. I had to quickly find myself something to cover up the majority of my tattoos (I had explained that I was pretty much covered, but could present them tactfully) and was stuck in Waikiki. John was golfing, wouldn't be home until LATE, and my interview was at 9am the following day. Yipes! My worries didn't last because Mr.Shopping was at the Waikele Outlets after a bunch of golf with the work-dudes.

Curled hair, bangs off my face a la **this shitty picture of Jessica Biel**, BCBG suit pants from out of the archives, the ballet-slipper heels, and a white button up (a la IZOD, thank you John). Phone, housekeys.

The photos on the spa's website simply did not do it justice. It was 2-levels of serenity with cool green walls, deep wooden furniture and stainless steel bits here and there. Outside on the rooftop were chairs and patio slabs set in pebbles. Hello, penthouse rooftop lady-play-area. Massage rooms, lounge areas, even the nail station looked like someone's office studio. And it smelled like heaven.

Honestly, I was starting to get a little wigged out that I wasn't going to get the job when my phone didn't ring. It was supposed to! But yesterday, of course when I was at Diamond Head watching John surf and getting more crispy under the sun with no cell service in the area - I got the call and shrieked at my voicemail.

We celebrated with soba rolls (soba noodles, cucumber, and teriyaki chicken in a seaweed wrap), and salads from Diamond Head Market & Grill then spent the evening at (you guessed it!) THE MALL! Shopping with intention and not just browsing for fun. Thank you, Express, for the $7 pants. Both pair.
And thank YOU, Forever21, for having that The Endless Summer tanktop that I've been searching for forever.

And thank YOU, mall, for having an advertisement for the upcoming Amos Lee show next weekend (we'll go while Anthony is in town!)

John and I snuck out of Pittsburgh for a day last summer, we drove to Ohiopyle and sat on the sit of the river. Not talking. Not doing anything. We hiked in the woods and looked at waterfalls and this one tree whose roots looked like a frog if you stared at it a certain way. On the drive out, we passed Seven Springs where there was a classic car show, we cruised through in the big black Charger, and while drinking our fruit smoothies from the little town, our hands crept closer - accidentally on purpose - to where we were actually holding hands. There was electricity in that touch, it was the most meaningful "hand hold" I'd ever had. I knew I shouldn't have been there with him, shouldn't have been holding his hand, but I didn't let go. I needed to squeeze on really really tight, with the windows down, and this song playing all the while, him saying "This song makes me think of you all the time..." (lyrics)


Yesterday was such a great day. Today feels the same so far.

New photos of John surfing at Diamond Head a few days ago, I mushed some together for him.

There's a portion of reef at 10-12 o'clock of the lighthouse. That particular ocean break is called Cliffs, and where the photos above were taken.

Today, I'm going to put my science experiment, Courtney, into a larger pot. And later, get the groceries necessary to make hot sausage stuffed banana peppers for dinner tomorrow. Let's hear it for the fate of our toilet!

Broads N'At.

Last week, I quit my job. Now, I'm with the rest of Young America and trying to find one. It seems a little more threatening to me, I suppose, for two reasons.
1: This place is still so foreign to me. I don't feel lost, I feel like I'm still learning Hawaii>Honolulu>Waikiki. I know the big picture, but not the small details. Like, how to go to the nearest hospital, let alone know where the hell its at.
2: The frickin' tattoos. It's not a problem that I have them, nor is it the problem that you can see a lot of them without covering up. Its the fact that I have an arm AND a chest piece to look at before you learn my first name. So, it makes me a tough candidate.
I have a small list (saved on my phone) of places that I have considered applying, you know - preferences, go to them first. I don't want to set major goals with job-searching, though, because like I said, its me AND the entire Young America fighting for the same thing. With that, here goes nothing and wish me luck.

John's mom + gram were here for 10days (during these days is when I quit), they left last night. Late enough to consitute John going into work later than his usual 7am, but no one is complaining when we can sleep in! They were able to score a room at the hotel right next door, so we were able to kinda do our thing while having them here. Our place isn't super-duper tiny, but it does feel crammed when there are 4 people here (bathroom, bedroom, LR, kitchenette, dining corner? tv area?). Mother's Day in Hawaii? Shoot, all moms should do that. John even bought them a great spa package for them to get every square inch of their bodies massaged. The ladies were champs; mom is like having a goofy older sister around but you just so happen to be engaged to her son, gram is a Southern girl with a heavy Yinzer accent and a story for everything. When John was off work, we bounced around the North Shore, went to Valley of the Temples, and just happily out of Waikiki. When he was at work, the ladies and I hit the beach, went to Chinatown, went on a tourist-y "island tour" on a bus for 10hours! and browsed everything in the International Marketplace. I took so many photos... it's going to take me while to get my favorites uploaded to Flickr.

I had three days recently where my fear of water/swimming wasn't there. Okay, so I'm not afraid per se... I'm just not that into it so death defying wave hopping seems a little strange and undesirable at times. John appeared at our beach-camp-spot after work one day, and the next thing I knew, I was standing on his shoulders and jumping from them and he was tossing me in the water like I was 8yrs old all over again. My dad used to do that stuff with me when I was little... It was so much fun and I never swim! Then I bounced over the small shorebreak at Sunset beach and bobbed around in 10ft deep water. IN THE FRICKIN PACIFIC OCEAN with all kinds of fish under me. THEN when I finally got to explore in Waimea Falls park, I slowly but surely made my way into the cold freshwater waterfalls+pool in the valley. While sitting in the gushing falls on a rock, I looked at John and said "Is this real life?" And hence, it seems as though if I just do it, having a life that actually involves water might not be so bad afterall.

I QUIT.

I do the housework. John would if I slacked off and it got to the point where he needed something (HIM = no underwear? okay, now its laundry time. ME = the hamper is full? okay, now it's laundry time). I get very touchy when I clean something and he comes home from work and it gets messed up just because I'm a neat freak.

...and then one day I realized that this "housework" thing that I originally didn't mind doing (honestly, not at all) reminded me of MY JOB and it put a bad taste in my mouth that I haven't been able to get rid of since.
I HATE MY JOB. Not only what I do, but I think that for the KIND of place it is, there needs to be some form of change because it's run so poorly from within. I can fix the hosuework, but I can't fix a corporate-run buisness.

My tattoos prevent the possibility of ever having a professional job. I have to take that attitude so that when I don't get hired at American Apparel (like back in November when I moved), and I'm given the excuse that I have too many tattoos to be hired - I have to be prepared. I was told that, if you can believe it. I had "too many tattoos to work the retail floor" is what this broad said upon seeing a picture that I had to EMAIL to her before going to the store. Retail. Cotton tshirts. Unworthy. JUST GREAT.
I *have* to take the attitude that I'm pretty much a scumbag unless I have a degree, unless I write tween-vampire novels, unless I become a hot-shot photographer, or own my own business... I'm going to have to do something horribly lame for my job where tattoos are accepted. Waitressing, bartending, and *gulp* working at a tattoo shop.

So there. That's what I do. I'm a receptionist at a tattoo shop. I work at Hart & Huntington (of the famed TV show "Inked", but this is their Hawaii location and no one from TV gives a shit, nor does Carey Hart unless its just the profit money he makes). Except for rednecks who still watch reality TV re-runs, the shop's reputation means absolutely NOTHING and my job is "We pay you hourly to come here 3-4x a week so you can scrub the tubes (that hold the needles in the tattoo machines) until the ink its gone from it with a pipe cleaner, run them in the ultrasonic, wrap them up, autoclave them, distribute them. Windex after the inconsiderate customers who love to touch the GLASS everywhere in the shop, sweep up the sand + leaves from the floor, fold the merchandise, and while you're at it - straighten up a bit." And then I have to talk to the guests about their tattoos, what they want, size, colors, coverup advice, and everything else that they don't have mind enough of their own to decide. Honestly, I hate talking about tattoos, mine AND theirs (I've just been doing this shit for over 10years and have collected a fair share of both good and bad examples of tattoo work). I schedule appointments with the guests, and walk each one through the paperwork process individually. I handle payments.

I was offered full time, was going to start the responsibility of inventory. Raise. Awesome. And then that didn't happen and I'm not sure why. It was a proposition that was simply left dangling. Perhaps its because my manager is a flake and only shows up to work when he feels necessary. OR the drama in HIS life is that in 30-odd days, he's going to federal prison for some mortgage-loan-fraud.. doesn't he sound rad? The schedule is inconsistent (we have Sun-Sun work weeks, but don't get notice until SATURDAY NIGHT - you got it, less than 12hrs notice if you *might* have to open the next day). We always have questions but the manager doesn't answer them due to his, well, lack of presence or care. He doesn't seem to respond how I'd expect when I tell him "there were ants crawling in the office because someone left their food overnight." or "there were paint brushes left in the sink in the sterilization room, with paint in them still." or "there were flies in the microwave, the microwave is in the sterilization room." He just doesn't give a shit. I realize that we are in the tropics and bugs are expected (the front doors are also glass that does not touch the ground, things can crawl in if they are small enough), but as a tattoo shop where we deal with human biohazard - we need to be clean. As clean as fucking possible.

I do not get along with one of the artists, mostly because he can't draw and I loathe him for having a job as a tattoo ARTIST but he's sneaky and has been a smart ass to me one too many times in front of customers. A woman wanted to get a tattoo for her mother that passed away 7days prior, her birthmonth was March so she wanted something with that, and the artist tried telling me that the birthstone (aquamarine, blue, for March) should be yellow because March is for Aries and Aries are yellow. He said this infront of the guests. I want to choke him - I'm not stupid, I know what I'm talking about with tattoos, and at least I can draw and didn't have to TRACE the flash-butterfly-drawing for the poor girl and her dead mother. It ended up being tattooed fucking pink + purple (what ever happened to MARCH!?!?)

But seriously - can I, or do I have a fair reason, to DO something about this shop? Better buisness bureau? Is there a league of international tattoo artists that go around and beat up people that run shitty shops? Can I hire them? Would contacting OSHA help?

I'm the oldest "desk staff" person, I'm heavily tattooed, I'm not really into retail or this kinda shit, and this is what I do for work so that I'm not asking my fiance to help pay for my bills (dr bills that followed me here, my one credit card, cell, and 2 student loans). John pays for rent, ALL the food, and basically everything else. My job takes care of my shit and gives me spending money for like, a new bikini or a book. I make less than $900 a month. It really really sucks. It's not worth $40 to tolerate the headache of an unsanitary tattoo parlor where I can't even get the management to be honest with me.

With John's mom+gram coming to town, I wanted to be available for them. It's the right thing to do. While John is at work taking care of US, I requested off from work for all but two very specific shifts. I did this a month in advance as to avoid any confusion. My request was approved (and of course, I hung onto my little paper that said so, in my manager's handwriting).

Lo and behold - I was given one shift, on a day that I can't work, during hours that I can't work.

Instinctively, the first thing I wanted to do was just switch shifts with someone so that I could at least have some kind of income. Seems fair. Wiggling my way around our specific plans so that I can still have some money to pay for my shit. But then I realized that I was stressing myself out trying to solve a problem that isn't mine in the first place because some effing moron didn't pay attention. Like, dude, seriously. I'm trying to be with family and you can't give me the decency to adhere to an approved period of time off?

Ain't my problem. Not anymore. I'm washing my hands of it today. Whew.

Adios, Stone.

My parents' dog, a black-lab-german-shepard-great-dane-mix of a brute named Stoney, passed away about an hour ago. We got him from a family near our camp almost 11 years ago.



Sleep tight, big guy.

Stop It...

I'm so over getting my period. Like, haven't I paid my dues enough already?

5Months

Once Lisa arrived, I realized that I have been living in Hawaii for 5 months and I have barely left the apartment.

It wasn't until I had her company that my balls dropped and I found myself actually using the public transportation to go somewhere because John was working and couldn't take me. Not only that, but I can't drive anyway and if I did, I would have gotten us lost. It was liberating, in a sense, to have gone "all the way" to Chinatown without him. And to have hiked the Diamond Head Crater (something that he hasn't even done himself). But as much as it was liberating I also felt like I was betraying him, especially when I saw the amazing reef patterns from the top of the crater. And you could totally see our apartment building, which make me feel a little special inside (photo below courtesy of Lisa, she took the better of the two cameras).



We went to the aquarium together, and I came to find out that its the oldest in the nation. Truthfully, I doubt I'll ever go again, but it was nice to see the fish up close. Or something like that.

Lisa helped me in finding pictures of Obama-stuff that is littered all over the place. I mean that literally. I'm still finding new things that say something about him, or have his picture, or some kind of far fetched association simply because we're in Hawaii and hey! He lived here once! That weekend, I think we saw 40-ish different things, so I took a picture and made a project out of it.

Then I made a project of "put this rubber ducky ninja somewhere and take a photo of IT!" that wasn't quite as exciting.

And John suggested that I take pictures of obsolete things, but I'm not finding that many. Probably because they are obsolete (duh).

We had hit Chinatown, a hike, Lisa got some Spam at the festival (not for us, no way), we got some sushi, and hit the North Shore to show her what Hawaii was really about. It was a nice weekend and I hope that she enjoyed her stay here in Neverneverland. It definitely threw off the nik+john schedule/swingofthings to have another person in the mix. But more than anything, the visit helped ME to appreciate the place that I call home and the person with whom I share it.

It's been taking me so long to go through all of the photos that I've taken so I could upload them to my Flickr page, so that I could share them on one page rather than uploading each one in a blog (even these were a pain in the ass). And since I've taken more pictures and the pile is getting bigger.

Uploads:

Speaking of bigger piles! Here is a perfect example. John's clothes. His dresser + closet are simply too small to fit all of his stuff. Against the wall: 25ish pairs of boardshorts. Then jeans/pants/shorts. Then tshirts against the mirror, white tees in front. Three rows of hats. Don't forget that his shoes line the foot of BOTH beds, the wall, and two shelves near the front door :)

I'm back to work for a few day-time shifts, and in "must clean" mode, but rather than being TOO proactive with that, I'm biding my time. John's mom + gram are coming to town for 10 days as of this Thursday. Cannix scored a room at the hotel next door so they're right near us but we can still have the place all to ourselves. However, as any good (future) daughter-in-law, I'm wigging out about having the apartment clean so I can make a good impression. With a "make my own mess, clean it up whenever I feel like it" male counterpart, plus being the exact opposite, I'm sure that I won't need to do much for it to look like I give a shit - but still. I'm not worrying myself about getting too much stuff done until Thursday morning to do much cleaning (then I'll be off to the gym and to fry myself in the sun) before we pick up the ladies from the airport.

Until then...

(PS - did anyone watch Bridget on the Travel Channel? Lisa's flight was late getting into town and WE MISSED THE SHOW! If you put it onto DVR or have a link to watch it online, please send it along to me!)