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!)