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.

Physical

It had been a shitty day. Life crumbling, blah blah blah. I needed a physical. After school and after practice I set out. Seeing that I have no doctor here I went to a walk in clinic. You walk in, pay thirty dollars, and they sign your piece of paper. I had driven the stick there which has no AC. 95 out + no AC+ stress+loud music= frazzled. Bizarre setup they have going here. Inside of a CVS they have this corner in the store that is a medical cubicle. The doctor (nurse practitioner or whatever) is about seventy. She is like any other seventy year old. Cute white shoes, lilac trousers and a lab coat. She introduces herself as Veronica. She goes through the paper and looks in my eyes and ears and what not. I wasn't being bitchy or short with her but I'm wasn't being very engaging either I suppose. Quiet and cooperative. I just wanted to sign my thing so I could go. 

She informs me my eye contact is horrid. Wow she is right, I have not actually looked the Veronica in the eyes once yet. "Look in my eyes." "Eye contact is very important in western society. It shows strength. (still staring into my face) You can loose jobs unless you improve your eye contact.... (getting a bit scared, I glance away). No you just looked away. SEE!" I sort of apologize and say I'm just having a shitty day. She asks about my life and why I'm so grumpy. I tell her. 

"Also I am not pleased with your sun exposure." 

"I'm a water polo player."

"Are you on the pill"

"Is that relevant?" 

"Yes it is. You ought to be (gives me a planned parenthood card)."

Anyhow, life went on until yesterday. Shock at the mail box!  A thank you card/CVS ad from Mrs. Veronica Severns. 

Alexandra, 

Again, Best wishes in all your near activities here. You have a beautiful smile. Keep showing it!

V

She certainly made her point. Thanks V!

Moke

1.	moke
	Anyone (Usually of Hawaiian ancestry) who actively participates in one or more of the following moke activities-  Surfing  Bodyboarding  Bodysurfing with McDonalds Tray  Hawaiian Canoe Paddling  Driving a Lifted Pickup  Owning a pitbull Listening to Reggae/Jawaiian Music  Playing an ukulele  Stealing shoes/slippahs  Smoking Weed  There is one mandatory qualification though... For one to be a full fledged "moke", one must be well versed if not fluent in pidgin english.

Moke: What 'chu faka? Like scrap? 

person: Do I know you? 

Moke: Faka, you teasing me? 

person: Who the hell are you? 

Moke: psh, faka you not worth it brah. *walks away* 

person: Jeeze, he's such a moke I swear. *shakes head* 

San Diego

You guessed it. I'm staying in San Diego this semester. Long story. Meet Miramar college. UBC agreed to give me credit for a semester down here. My life is weird. Lots of thirty year olds and in my classes. People seem super unmotivated. Gorgeous Marine Bio prof. I played water polo this summer for fun and then my coach saw all this crazy fucking potential in me and bugged me non stop me to play in the fall. I really respect serious athletes so much more now. Not only is it physically exhausting and time consuming but it feels like I have no time ever -all this swimming is not making me thin and gorgeous its making me manly. Anyways my question is... I cant help but notice that swimming does wonderful things for mens bodies but not womens? What the hell is this about?

Girls here are barbies. It's crowded. People drive like assholes. Traffic doubles time to get anywhere. I am constantly frazzled, this is unhealthy. I like the country. Taking time to appreciate life and the people in it.

I learned a valuable lesson this weekend. I need to stop fucking up my personal life. I'm digging Dallas Green (city and colour) right now. He just gets me right now. so magical.

Dickwad

Today I was dropping off my cousin off to second grade and heard a seven year old call his friend a dickwad! WTF. What is the world coming to... Where are this kids parents?

In my state of shock I wonder, "What is a dickwad exactly?"  I sip coffee out of my mug and gaze off into the clouds to think about this. I have an interpretation, but could you give me your thoughts on what a dickwad exactly is? A picture included would be helpful. 

OH WAIT I"VE FOUND A DEFINITION! 

Thanks u-dic!

1.	dickwad	746 up, 288 down
	Commonplace reference to George W. Bush George W. Bush is a dickwad. rat bastard prick fuckface asswipe dickhead  by dabren Oct 7, 2005 share this
2.	dickwad	415 up, 120 down
	A worthless piece of shit. Also known as a wad-of-dick. Me. I am a dickwad. You are a dickwad.

Celebrate

Ah yes, you know what today is right? The last day of year 1 in university! Hand in a fat paper, and crack open the beer, or twenty! Went drunk to psych. Fell off my skateboard on the way back from class. again. skin and blood on the pavement. a little sob walking home, bloody. greeting by bff beer bong at the door! Sweet!

Rendezvous

Guess what I learned today! Rendezvous= Ron-day-voo. I always believed that Rendezvous was a daredevil or something or perhaps a good name for a rental car. But now I am well informed that what I thought was pronounced "Rendevis" is actually what I know as "Ron-day-voo", which is of course a meeting between two or more parties, sometimes in secret. Cheers from Whistler-Blackcomb (where one of the lodges is called Rendezvous). For now, Im still going to spell it Ron-day-voo in my head. Im just not ready to adjust. Yeah yeah, I'm a fucking idiot. It's amazing how things can slide by you.