Jesus Thongs

I hope this is not offensive. But I think Jesus thongs are quite comical.

My family had just moved into a new house. I was at that awkward age where you sorta start to figure out what sex and all that stuff means. Although you really still don't know anything about it. I was maybe nine or ten. I did not know what a thong was, but I was about to find out.

One day a box came in the mail. It was addressed to the man who built our house about a year before and lived there for a few months before selling it. His name was Harry White. There was no return address, and no forwarding address. The package got opened and inside it was an invoice for 100 white "thongs." They were these skimpy undies with a string that went up your butt. I didn't get it. They had a graphic of Jesus on the front and said, "What Would Jesus Do?" underneath his face. Just googled "What Would Jesus Do Thong" and alas! This is exactly them!!!!! I had a box of 100 of them on my kitchen counter. Such good fortune.




I did not understand the humor. My mom and dad thought it was hilarious but tried to pretend like it wasn't. I asked if I could keep the box of undies. They said no. I was sad. I tried to figure out the meaning of this, "What Would Jesus Do?" that must be important if it is printed on every pair of underwear. I wondered if if meant that jesus would have to decide if he would wear the panties or not. Like some kind of ad for the company. You know, if Jesus decides to wear them, then you should definitely wear them too.

Harry was probably bummed about his missing 100 Jesus thongs. I wonder what exactly he was planning on using them for. Christmas gifts maybe? Some kind of crazy party? Tree ornaments? At least his misfortune of an address blunder was comical for everyone else and served as my first encounter with such genera of underwear. Thanks man!

I am in no way endorsing or not endorsing religion and am not trying to offend anyone. I blame the people who made the panties for their ill/fabulous humor. I wish something this fun would arrive by accident in my mail again.

The pros and cons of sleeping naked on a fault line.

I like to sleep naked and earthquakes follow me. This is a problem. In 2005, a massive one hit Hawaii. I was so scared and instead of running outside all I did was curl up in a ball in bed and put my head over my pillow. Luckily I was 15 and hadn't discovered the joy of sleeping naked yet. It shattered windows in our house, dishes were flung out of cabinets, and some houses experienced millions of dollars in damage. blah blah blah. I talked to my friend who lived down the street and she told me it was super funny because her parents ran outside completely naked into their backyard. I was shocked!

Life went on. Stupid stores made the "I survived the oct something 2005 earthquake!" T-shirts. Consumers are retarded.

Anyway let us move to San Diego, where I have lived the past two summers. It is important to note that I am now 19 and HAVE discovered that sleeping naked is magical. I live with my aunt and uncle and their two kids. They are fairly conservative ect. Anywayssssss this past summer there were SO many earthquakes. Not huge but several that made us all run outside. My aunt and uncle have this crazy mansion and I live in the furthermost corner on the second floor so every second is needed to get outside. I would waste at least 10-15 seconds clothing myself. Meaning that I could have died by being struck by an object because I didn't want my goodies to be revealed to my entire neighborhood. The quakes happened so much that I actually started sleeping with some type of clothing on. I had to ask myself, "Do I value my life or sleeping naked more."

It was painful, but seriously. Pros and cons, always gotta weigh the options. Here's a guideline on deciding if sleeping the nude is okay.

1. Do you live on a fault line?

2. Are you going to keep a stash of clothes by the door?

3. Who will be outside if you run out naked?

4. Will it be cold out there?

5. On a scale of 1-10, how much do you like sleeping naked? <7=doit.

6. How many potentially dangerous objects will you have to dodge?

7. Are you a fatass?

I guess the question at hand is now to evaluate my current situation. Earthquakes in the couv. Not so much. BUT people are saying there is going to be some massive one soon! But in that case, people may actually die and nudity is the slightest of problems.

This is me just a enjoying a nude car snooze just few days ago. Ah, raptor love.

Uhm vhat else. Life is good. I wrote this in my journal the other day. "have this overwhelming feeling that everything is going to be okay. " I can't say I have felt much of that in the past few years. So glad I switched outta econ into psych. School is so much easier. I think my next post is going to be the "crazy after grad plans" post. My life is so full of bs sometimes from external circumstances, but all I can do is make the most of it and be myself. My head is level. Frick get to see my bestie this weekend! oh wow, halo+reunion w/bestie+boat party+booze=bestweekendevaaaaa! Also found this lovely pic of my stepdad last year at a neighbors party. Think he is wearing curtains :) Good costumes must run in the family! Happy Halo Lovedoves!

Foot Fetishes.

Think your foot fetish is weird? Are you embarrassed about it? Think again! According to researcher V. S. Ramachandran foot fetishes are perfectly explainable. In cognitive psych this thursday my professor analyzed foot fetishes. Basically our sense of feeling is all located on a sensory cortex strip in the brain. Parts of our bodies have a part corresponding piece of brain tissue on the strip that allows us to feel things. Unfortunately the parts of our bodies are not in any particular order on the strip in accordance with where they are located on our bodies. One would think that hands would be next to arms on the strip, but they are in seemingly random order. Notice where feet are located?

1. Leg
2. Forearm
3. Wrist
4. Hand
5. Thumb
6. Eye and Light
7. Nose
8. Face
9. Lips
10. Tongue
11. Primary visual cortex
12. Where images are first processed
13. Sex organs and feet

Example of a foot fetish: Carrie always walks around barefoot, and she always has her toenails painted. Her feet are so sexy... all I want to do is make love to them. I must have foot fetish.

Celebrities with foot fetishes... Ludacris, Britney Spears, Pharrell, Andy Warhol, Elvis, Quentin Tarentino, Enrique Igleasias (gasp really I guess he could touch my feet if he really wanted????), Ricky Martin, and Jack Black.

Some researchers have hypothesized that foot fetishism increases as a response to epidemics of STDs. Right-O doc. I'm not into feet. But whatever, I thought this was interesting. People who like feet are still weird, maybe just a bit less weird. However, a brotha can't fight psychology. Happy sucking (or rubbing or whatever it is that they do)!

Scwabble.

I hate feeling stupid. I hate it even more when a guy makes me stupid. I hate it when my grandma makes me feel stupid. I hate it the most when a guy and my grandma make me feel stupid and it involves sucking at a board game.

So one night last year a friend from school who was in Vancouver (I was in San Diego) asked me on facebook chat if "I wanted to play scrabble." Seeing that we were in different cities, I thought he was joking. So I said, "how did you know?!?" Next thing I knew I was invited to an online scrabble game. Oh, he was serious.

I go along with it and play the stupid scrabble game. He is really fucking good. It's humiliating. He uses almost every single letter on every turn. He uses words I have never heard of. The score was like 400 to 50. He spelled thing like ambiguous and the longest word I got was goat. We weren't that good of friends so I left feeling rather humiliated about about little rendezvous. He later told me that his mom had been the state champ at scrabble and he was a badass too.

Another time was when I was visiting with my grandma a couple of years ago, and a similar experience happened. She killed me-completely put my words to shame. So now after another experience like this I am pretty sure I am border line mentally handicapped. It was time to take action. I went home to Hawai'i to find my mother had also become a scrabble maniac. She humiliated me too. So I began to play with her everyday. I got pretty into it and started memorizing obscure words that use Q and X.

My game has improved significantly and I would like a rematch with my friend. I play almost everyday with my two cousins. They are six and nine. The six year old is named John. He doesn't pronounce his Rs and says, "ALEXXXX!!!! Can we play scwabble???" He can't come up with words so I sabotage his turn and innocently suggest words to him that better my agenda. It's sick but I love winning. This way I can take advantage of their young minds to get my daily satisfaction of a win. I remember my stepdad telling me during tennis season of my senior year that he didn't think I had that "fire to win" that a true competitor has. Guess he was wrong.

fresh veggies, sunshine, scrabble, and a beautiful man. What more could a woman want?

Niche

I have looked at some web sites about ways to improve a blog ect. They all give ideas for posts such as "interview someone from your niche" or "Use compelling graphics/charts outlining interesting numbers/facts about something in your niche." "Discuss a current event in your niche." I don't want to have a niche. You may not confine me to a stupid niche.

On a non-niche note...

I'm so into scuba. High off it right now. All I can think about is "fuck school, I want to advance my dive career!" I want to take all these cool dive courses like wreck diving, night diving, rescue diving, and maybe even become a divemaster. It's so cool to be able to breathe underwater. Enough said. Have a trip planned to La Jolla cove this weekend and to Catalina island the next. So so so excited.

Also boo-boo moment this last Friday. At a grad party for a neighbors son... My little cousins beg me to do the "walk on my hands trick." AKA I can walk on my hands fifteen yards or so. A bunch of people start getting excited about it so I finally agree. I walk across the pool deck maybe fifteen steps and then my elbow completely gives out and my chin slams into the gravel surface with no brace from my arm whatsoever. I look down and there is blood on the ground and twenty sets of eyes on me. They scream "are you okay?" "let me get you some ice" ect. I was fine... I was bleeding out of a huge gash on my chin, but not hurting too bad. I had drank a single beer and can't help but wonder if this beer was the culprit of my super humiliating wipe out in front of so many people. So lame. I hold a napkin up to my chin the rest of the night to stop the bleeding. Some cute guys show up, I don't know if they were cute. I looked like a dick with my bloody napkin and all, so I hid in the corner all night. Wouldn't you have done the same?

PS. Heard a couple funny jokes from a trolley driver the other day.

Where is a pirates favorite place to eat? Arrrrby's.

What is a pirates favorite food? Arrrrtichoke

What is a pirates favorite kind of socks? Arrrrgyle

69

'Ua mau ke ea o ka aina i ka pono.'

The life of the land is perpetuated by righteousness.

My favorite beach is 69s.

69 mile marker, that is.

It never used to be paved.

You used to be able to bring your dog.

They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.

About four years ago.

It became more crowded.

But not like the day I freaked out.

After a few hours of baking in the sun.

L and I return to the car.

On the way out the main entrance is clogged.

70 lost looking asian tourists are also leaving.

I see more tourist then beach.

Panic.

A tour bus.

Since when do tour buses come to my favorite beach?

L says, " it was like this last summer."

Shower has at least 40 people waiting.

Weave through people like a crowded city sidewalk.

This is not a city.

This is the big island.

This is my home.

I finally get to my car.

I try to reverse but the herd pays no attention to my car.

They have no sense that they block the road.

I have to honk to get them to get out of the tiny road.

I feel as though my body is melting into the leather seats.

Bothered. Throughly bothered for a few days.

What is happening to this island?

*Change is hard. 69s has always been the chill beach where people are cool and it's never as crowded as Hapuna (which is less than a half mile away and is frequently rated as best beach in north america). I feel weird about the hateful feelings I felt for these tourists. They didn't ask to go there. They have just as much right to enjoy it as I do. Yet I feel so territorial. This beach is a part of me. A part of the Alex as a little girl, and the Alex now. Like, this beach is not supposed to be crowded and now it is and you have ruined it and get out. I was surprised how strongly this whole thing affected me. What's next? An elevator down to Waipio? A gift shop in my backyard? The development going on the big island scares me to death. Now we have a target... and all these other chain stores. I guess what frightens me most is that if the land that has taught me so much and made me who I am can be so vulnerable and weak to the outside changes, then so can I. The slow life, small population, respect for the land, and lack of consumerism have entirely created the way I think and feel. I don't want to lose that uniqueness in the place I call home, or more importantly in myself.

An ode to 69s... I stole some of these pictures from Sarah Lee. Shit she takes AMAZING photos. The only way to do 69s any justice.

Car sticker families.

I have noticed an epidemic here in southern California. Sticker families on cars. Writing with car markers. And the horrendous sticker... "my child is a superstar at blah blah blah elementary school." Maybe I am insensitive because I don't have kids or a family. These were a bestseller in Michaels. Ugh. I hate the ones the are pairs of slippers according to how large the member of the family would be. Like so



If you Johnson folk can afford a BMW, then you ought to be able to not ruin your beautiful vehicle with such complete and utter gayness. I really have a problem with the sticker fams. Love your family-great me too. Keep it the fuck of my car-yes.

Anyhow summer is rolling along. One month until I'm back in Vancouver. I'm excited to leave San Diego, I'll say that. I feel so alone here. There is something about being here that makes me sad. In this room, in this house, I spent the entire last term as depressed as can be. I don't want to be her anymore but every place I go reminds me of darker days. I have mixed feelings about going back to school. My best friend not being there is a huge, beyond huge downer. Being moved back into first year rez (not to mention the all girls dorm) is also a somewhat downer. I'm so sad to go back to eating in a cafeteria. One of my pure joys in life is 1) making breakfast in my undies 2) taking my jeans off the second I get home. A cafeteria requires me to re put my jeans on and go to get food and be social. I'm not a social butterfly. I prefer my food without presentable clothes and small talk. Deep breaths and make the most of it. My christmas plans are set. Amanda (my friend since third grade Waikoloa elementary) is coming to Vancouver!! We are going to do a bit of traveling in the local area and hopefully settle for christmas in Whistler. I'm really excited to finally have a white christmas. Although I will miss home and my mom and Keaka, I am really excited to spend the holiday snowboarding.

I just finished my pool scuba dives, and have two ocean ones next week. Mahalo to my uncle who paid the $500 for my official certification. I have a feeling I will be scuba diving tons now that I legally can. Stooooooked.

Oh and also. I run a lot. You ought to know. There is this guy.... I see him running frequently at the same times as I do. And uhm well.... Dear hot guy with sexy tats and a ridic 6 pack that I have been having eye sex with for two months, I would like to take our relationship to the next level. He loves me, He loves me not.

Alejandro

For those of you who do not know, I work as a nanny in San Diego. This incident took place at Del Mar beach.

Poor Alejandro. His grandpa has been eyeing me teach my little cousins how to surf. My nine year old cousin has stood up a couple times now. The board gets away from her and hits up against this old mans shins. He is very tanned with green eyes. He is about seventy and his skin looks like sun beat wrinkly leather. He says, “you’re a good teacher! You could teach me!” I laughed and flashed a huge smile. Whatever old man.

Twenty minutes later he is still patrolling this section of the shallow water again. My board washes up right next to him. He sort of grabs it and then turns to the shore. “ALEJANDRO! COME HERE!, “ he yells toward a boy well on shore. Alejandro looks but does not come. “ALEJANDRO, COME HERE,” the old man demands. Finally Alejandro makes his way out from under his shady umbrella. He is about fourteen, braces, and chubby. His face is beet red and made much more noticeable by his skin tight white rash guard.

“This pretty girl wants to teach you to surf, “ he tells Alejandro. I do? Since when? I would rather get a peck from a shark then endure what would be the most awkward surf lesson of my life. “You will take him out right?” grandpa asks “This is Alejandro from Mexico city. What is you’re name?” I say Alex. “Oh same name, meant to be!” grandpa leather face exclaims. I agree to take him out but only because I know he is way too embarresed to touch my surfboard. After I say fine, Alejandro looks like he is about to die of embarassment and keeps saying things like “not now” and “later.” Him and grandpa argue for a bit. Alejandro basically books his chubby cheeks back to his chair and I walk away. My cousins laugh. I laugh too as I remember all the times my lovely step father has embarresed me.

Just a month or two ago while I was home in Hawaii, we went out to get dinner. Our waiter happened to be quite cute. He had blonde surfer hair, a glorious tan that only comes from a life in the water, and cute freckles sprawled across his face. I made the mistake of making a comment and said that I though he was cute. After dinner plates were cleared, my step dad, whom I call Keaka did the unthinkable.

Keaka- You know my daughter Alex right?
Hot surfer waiter man- No I don’t think so…
Keaka- Well you should. What school did you go to? (He makes us compare schools, we obviously do not know one another.)

I had to leave dinner, luckily it was over anyway. It’s just not right. I can only imagine if my grandpa had done that to me while on vacation and I was fourteeen and the guy was a hot twenty something stranger on the beach. I would have died!

I feel for you Alejandro. Maybe if you were ten years older and sexy, our future together may have been different. You need to tell grandpa leather bones to find you a target in your age range. Peace homie or should I say adios!

Yarn people.

I hope you never have to work at Michaels. In case you don't know what it is, let me give you the scoop. It's the Costco of crafts and the mothership for the elderly artistic. What I hate the most about this store is the fact that you need NOTHING in it and yet they sell thousands and thousands of dollars of shit to people everyday. For a little more than minimum wage, I sell my soul there sometimes.

I can tell you many things. The clock parts are located on the left hand side of aisle fifteen. The patio paint is not located with the other paints and you can find it in the faux plant section. One of my supervisors has a woman mustache, she is awesome. On November first exactly, they bust out the christmas music so that by the time December comes, all Michaels employees want to bash their heads against the cheap christmas decor.

9AM saturday morning. Name tag, check. Khaki pants and black collared shirt, check. Hugest hangover ever, check. I clock in and proceed to lurk around the aisles and "put things away." "Alex to the front please," blares through the storewide speakers. Fuck. Now I have to cashier, which sucks because you actually have to interact with all the spores. Michael's has a special lady who does demos and birthday parties and she is waiting for me at the front. She tells me that she has a birthday party booked at the same time as the front of the store demo. Oh god! Crisis! She informs me that I will be filling in to do the "yarn people" demo this morning. WHAT!!!! WHY ME!!??!!?? I am not qualified (nor well enough at the moment) for this.

I am nauseous. I'm sitting in the back room and this woman Christine is showing me how to make these retarded yarn people. You wrap yarn around two popsicle sticks and a piece of cardboard to create "people." There are instructions on how to make the mother, father, and children yarn people. I give out little brochures with the reasons to make yarn people.

Why make yarn people?

They're fuzzy and cute.
They're much softer and more flexible than your average pet rock.
If your parents or landlord won't allow you to have a pet, they can't object to a yarn person!
They make nice good luck charms.
They don't mind tagging along wherever you go.
They don't object to your taste in music. At least, not out loud.
They're non-judgemental.
They're fun to hang out with.
They can keep a secret.
They make fun gifts for friends.
They honestly couldn't care less if you haven't brushed your hair all day.
They don't take up much space.

Wow whoever made that brochure needs to die or (at least get some real friends). SO here I am sitting at the front of Michael's with my little table and chairs set up making these stupid dolls. I keep fucking them up, and they look deformed. I feel dizzy.I don't vom though, this is good. Many customers ask questions and seem intersted. God really? I stare off into space... I know that I am headed for a better life. One day I will not have to compromise my soul for a small paycheck. I will laugh at the days when I was once pimp of the yarn people.

Later that day... My shift is almost done I am slinking around the aisles wasting time. Two middle aged Mexican guys approach me and say, (this will be in head forever) "The head of my giant jesus statue broke off... What kind of glue do I need to reattach it?" What the? Gorilla glue. Is the fact that the statue is jesus and giant relevant??? I do not love my job today. I kiss my car when my shift is over, and think, pray for that better life.

I guess what gets me the most though is that these idiots don't know what an apostrophe is... 

Blogging again.

I have been all over the place. I live in Hawaii, Vancouver, and San Diego. I am halfway done with university. An economics diploma will have name on it in two years. This semester has been insane! I worked two jobs and went to school full time and still managed to party my ass off and during the olympics and hit the lovely slopes of Whistler Blackcomb every weekend. I came back after a semester away to find that my friends had changed. It was so sad to see my friend group so broken apart. I suppose it opened other doors for me though. With my new jobs and roomies, came some really amazing friends. I worked as a rez advisor and at the faculty of dentistry. Money in the bank. Shawty what you drank.

My highlight of the whole semester was seeing Shaun White playing on the half pipe in Whistler a few days before the opening ceremonies. He inspires me like none other. He does things on a snowboard that seem completely impossible. Also, I was caught in some pow up to my neck in the backwoods trying to dig myself out and this guy with one leg comes ripping by me on a ski. Anyhow I realize I take my legs for granted and think the paralympic athletes deserve just as much credit if not more then the regular athletes. I learned quite a bit about myself on the mountain this year. Blackcomb glacier has got to be one of the most beautiful places on earth. I thought I was an island girl for life, but this kind of spiritual lovin makes me think that I can't live without the unknown peace of a snowy forest. I made the mistake of cheering on team USA in the hockey finals at the bar, and almost got beat up. I took not one picture of the olympics. So I am posting others pics. My bestie and I saw John Mayer in concert and pretty much died. He was on his knees stroking the guitar on the ground at the end. He told me my body was a wonderland. I have been lovesick ever since.

The reason I stopped blogging is because I never censor what I say, and it could be used against me. I deleted all the bitchy stuff. I won't loose my blunt sense of humor, but think a bit more about what I say on here. And I'm not going to talk about drugs or how wasted I got last night.