My break was spent thusly:

- Weeks one and two: Working at my mindless part-time job, watching mindless movies on TBS and TNT.

This aimlessness was much needed after a long semester of the reading, writing, and intense emotional processing required by my Psychology curriculum. Anyone close to me knows that I legitimately enjoy horrible, horrible movies. Stupid, formulaic, often misogynistic, vapid, hijinx-ridden love stories that make most intelligent people ashamed to be a human being, I love them.

“Legally Blonde,” “Miss Congeniality,” “The Princess Diaries,” etc., etc. … I’m fully aware of how and why they are awful, but they’re mentally recuperative for me. And the best part about TBS and TNT is that their lazy programming departments air these cinematic gems twice in a row, so I can nap through the first half and still catch the whole movie if I have an entire afternoon to dedicate to the denigration of my IQ. God bless America.

- Week three: Visiting my family in Massachusetts.

This involved beer with my sister and her fiancée, cooking and catching up with my parents, and planning for my sister’s wedding in May. In the past, I usually feel anxious and caged by Day 3 of visiting my folks; this year, the whole week was lovely. I guess I’ve become more at ease with who I am and what I’m doing, I feel less of a need to constantly justify or apologize for my decisions, and this, in turn, puts my parents at ease. Could be that I had merely been drugged by hours of the previous week’s Hollywood brainwashing, but I don’t think so.

-Weeks four and five: Mostly working.

I work as the membership assistant at a small company where there was a giant promotion after Christmas, so the office was incredibly busy, and I had many new members to add to our database. My job is fine: it’s easy, it’s in the city, and it pays the bills, but anyone who has spent several tedious hours in a row updating a database can vouch that it makes you feel like a loser.

Anyway, whatever. Given my full-time student status, I know I’m lucky to have found this job, with its flexible hours and medical benefits. When school is in session, I only work three days a week. Time passes quickly, and aside from the mind-numbing boredom and the fact that my job could be performed by an obedient stone, I have no complaints.

-Week six: Visiting the adorable, smart, funny, purple-headed Dean in Hawaii.

By far the best week of my break. In fact, the best week I’d had in a long time.

Go here for his account of and explanation for the visit.

I have to say, if you’re going to get involved with someone wonderful who moves very, very far away from you shortly after you develop feelings for each other, I recommend you find someone who’s moving to Hawaii. I owed Dean a visit after he came to stay with me for my birthday in November, and aside from the fact that I really wanted to see him, a rendezvous in Hawaii is objectively much more enticing than one in, say, Detroit or New Jersey or somewhere else where it’s cold and ugly in January.

So Dean, it sucks that you had to move away, but it was very considerate of you to choose a tropical paradise where I could be hosted. Consider me wooed.

I purchased a bikini specifically for the trip, which is a pretty big deal for me. I’d never before owned a bikini, and my stomach had never before seen the sun. I’m a meaty, pasty-white, Irish chick. My people are bred for drinking and potato farming, not for dousing ourselves in baby oil and tempting the melanoma gods.

As much as I love swimming, especially in the ocean, I despise swimsuits on principle, which used to put a damper on any beach experience. However, I realized that the quickest way for me to have a “bikini body” was to buy a bikini and put in on my body. Surprisingly, I looked okay, and though I was shocked to discover how much sand a bikini crotch can hold after a day of boogie-boarding, it’s the most comfortable bathing suit I’ve ever owned. I ended up wearing it for most of the week and didn’t give a shit.

Dean and I camped on the beach in the country for a couple of days … later in the week we biked from Dean’s house to the beach in Waikiki so that I could go swimming in the moonlight … we went snorkeling with dolphins and sea turtles … we visited a fish sanctuary … we drank retarded drinks out of coconuts exported, inexplicably, from the Philippines … we ate buckets and buckets of meat. It was a full week, and I have photographic evidence of all of these activities, but no Photoshop with which to shrink the images.

I did manage to find this picture online, of the fish sanctuary:

Hanauma Bay
(Our pictures are prettier.)

If you zoom way in, you’ll see a chunk of my flesh snagged on the rough surface of the reef, where I got dashed by handful of waves and briefly entertained the possibility that I was going to drown. I was so absorbed in the snorkeling that I didn’t pay attention to where I was swimming, and failed to realize that the further into the reef I explored, the rougher the surf became. Before I knew it there was the Scylla of waves lapping over my head, and the Charybdis of rocks and precious little fishies below.

I floundered (ha) on the rocks for a moment, spluttering and, well, panicking a little, until I realized that freaking out was probably a bad idea. There weren’t any lifeguards in sight to save me, and it seemed like all I had to do to free myself was to ignore the Bay rules of not touching the reef, scratch myself up a bit, and climb away. So I unhooked my thighmeat from the crags, and gracelessly combined a crawl with a dog-paddle to a place where I could put my feet on the sand, catch my breath, and get my legs beyond where my blood could trickle into sharks’ nostrils.

Aside from that, the snorkeling was fun as hell. I don’t think it surprises anyone that I couldn’t manage to survive an ocean-based vacation without maiming myself and the sacred marine ecosystem just a little bit. But you know what? I didn’t pee in the ocean. Not once. So. The ocean and I are even.

Among the fish we saw, was Hawaii’s state fish, the Humu-humu-nuku-nuku-apua'a.

Humu-humu-nuku-nuku-apua’a.

Humu-humu-nuku-nuku-apua’a, Humu-humu-nuku-nuku-apua’a, Humu-humu-nuku-nuku-apua’a.

Sorry, it just took me so damned long to remember how to say that, I need to revel in my accomplishment. Dean coached me:

Dean: Humu-humu-nuku-nuku-apua’a.
Kelly: Hm.
Dean: Say it.
Kelly: Hunu …
Dean: No! Humu …
Kelly: Humu-nulu …
Dean: Humu-humu-nuku …
Kelly: Humu-humu-nuku-nuku … um.
Dean: Humu-humu-nuku-nuku-apua’a.
Kelly: Humu-humu … um.
Dean: … Nuku.
Kelly: Nuku. Apu. Ah. Ah?
Dean: Humu-humu-nuku-nuku-apua’a.
Kelly: Fuck.
Dean: Say it!

So now, not only can I say it, I can spell it. I can even recognize the damned fish as it takes me bodily into its tiny little fins and tosses me onto a jagged reef. I think that’s really what happened. Because no one messes with the turf of the Humu-humu-nuku-nuku-apua’a.

Maybe I should’ve peed in the ocean.

Humu-humu-nuku-nuku-apua’a
What the hell is it trying to prove?

As far as the other photos are concerned, you’ll just have to take my word for it that each of the sunsets looked like fingerpaintings gobbed with cotton candy, and the stars punched us in the face every night after the sun went down. Every night. Hawaii really does look very much as it is depicted in all of the photographs and films that document it; but it’s even more beautiful in person.

All of Hawaii seems built for being outside. Even when you’re in the house with the doors closed and the blinds drawn, you still feel like you’re in the open air. Maybe it’s because Hawaii residents never wear shoes in the house, lending a treehouse quality to every home; maybe it’s because the air is soft and gentle enough that artificial heat or air conditioning isn’t really necessary. Maybe it’s because when you’re in Hawaii, you’e surrounded with oceans and flowers and beaches and trees, so why the hell would you stay inside unless it’s raining?

Even the airport, mall, and hospital* – buildings usually so sterile and ordinary that they sap a little bit of my life force – were beautiful, constructed around courtyards with giant patches of open sky for ceilings. And they smelled good, like cookies or flowers or fruit punch, instead of like they were pumped full of recycled air.

(When I flew back to California, the first thing I noticed was that the Oakland airport smells like poo.)

It was refreshing and active and relaxing, and just so much fucking fun. Like I said, it sucks that Dean is far away, but dude, I got to go to Hawaii!

Thanks, Dean. I hope to get back there soon.

~ Last Five Entries ~

I'm not wearing any underwear! - 04.12.06

Smoke Break - 03.22.06

My Harrowing Hike from Rite Aid - 03.19.06

Right.
Write.
Whatever.
I have a paper due. - 03.16.06

Tomorrow - 02.18.06

---

BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

---

BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

---

««« Chicago Blogs Webring »»»

---

email:

---

words © luvabeans, 2003 - 2004