Days till 2008: 5
Days till Menopause: 19
So when I (mostly) last left you all, I was confused; lost; frightened. It was a Tuesday that should've felt the same as a Friday, but my internal clock was unable to believe it was the end of the work week for me. I didn't know what to do; even as I drove away from DC, listening to the happy, carefree chatter of my friends as they discussed their holiday plans, I was still left a nervous wreck, believing I had three more full days in the office to go.
And now today, on this should-be glorious Thursday, I feel a new sense of fear; desperation; bewilderment. It feels like a Monday, as I've been off for a week, but it's Thursday - it should be a happy day indeed! Alas.
Anyway, enough of that.
I hope everyone had a very merry Christmas! I know I sure did [insert bragging here] - I got:
A new camera, The Office seasons 1 and 3, Futurama seasons 1, 2, and 4 (already had 3), more Mystery Science Theater 3000!!!, Friends season 10, a buttload of movies, furniture and dishes for my apartment, a ceramic bikini-clad sheep with outfits (don't ask), an ipod dock/speakers, the TV, a bunch of gift certificates, and other stuff I can't remember.
I ate so much turkey, stuffing, and calorie-laden pastries that I'm shocked my pants still somehow fit, and I drank so much booze that quite frankly I'm in awe that I'm coherent at all. Hooray, holidays! It's a time where gluttony and borderline alcoholism is not only accepted, but strongly encouraged; a time where no one goes to work; a time where everyone passes out with a beer can in their hand sometime around 5am, only to wake up at 1pm, glance quizzically at the beer can, and commence another day's worth of drinking. Now I finally know why all those sappy commercials profess the holidays as the most wonderful time of the year.
And indeed it is the merriest time of the year, as 2007 draws to a close, and 2008 looms on the horizon. Many wonderful things happened in 2007:
- I graduated from college
- I didn't develop a recognized drinking problem (for the most part)
- I ended menopause
- I get to go back on menopause
- I became really single for the first time in years
- I acquired better judgment with men
- I acquired better judgment with friends
- I reconnected with old friends
- I lost a buttload of weight
- I gained back some weight
- I lost the weight again
- I got to be part of a mental breakdown (not my own, for once)
- I started writing my first book (sort of)
- I decided to move back to Boston
- I survived
And as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive.
But those are just fun, trivial things. What really matters are the year's Top 5 Awesome Adventures* - five adventures in 2007 that really made an impact on my life; five adventures that really resonated with me throughout the year; five adventures in which sometimes, I wondered what the hell was wrong with the world in general. Since we have 5 days until 2008, I'd like to begin the countdown with:
(* I thesaurus.com'd the word "shenanigans" as I liked that word, but thought it might be a little too ridiculous to use - these are the results: antics, capers, dirty tricks, fooling around, frolicsomeness, funny business, gag, hanky-panky, high jinks, horseplay, horsing around, misbehavior, mischievousness, monkey business, naughtiness, nonsense, prank, trouble, vandalism. As you can see, I chose "adventure" which was not on that list.)
Top 5 Awesome Adventures of 2007
Number 5: Hawaii: The Night on the Town
For any college student that isn't a massively hideous anti-social freak, March symbolizes one of the most festive, most revered, most awesome times of the year: Spring Break. Not only does Spring Break happen to fall at some point on St. Patrick's Day, it embodies all of the awesomeness that is St. Patrick's Day. It is a week of getting so drunk you think it's a fabulous idea to hit on barstools, old men, and grossly obese women in string bikinis; it is a week of going in and out of consciousness; it is a week of fleeing the freezing cold of the Mid-Atlantic (or wherever the hell you may be) and jet-setting off to destinations like Miami, Mexico, California - or Hawaii.
Obviously, on our last Spring Break as college students, we chose Hawaii.
So when I (mostly) last left you all, I was confused; lost; frightened. It was a Tuesday that should've felt the same as a Friday, but my internal clock was unable to believe it was the end of the work week for me. I didn't know what to do; even as I drove away from DC, listening to the happy, carefree chatter of my friends as they discussed their holiday plans, I was still left a nervous wreck, believing I had three more full days in the office to go.
And now today, on this should-be glorious Thursday, I feel a new sense of fear; desperation; bewilderment. It feels like a Monday, as I've been off for a week, but it's Thursday - it should be a happy day indeed! Alas.
Anyway, enough of that.
I hope everyone had a very merry Christmas! I know I sure did [insert bragging here] - I got:
A new camera, The Office seasons 1 and 3, Futurama seasons 1, 2, and 4 (already had 3), more Mystery Science Theater 3000!!!, Friends season 10, a buttload of movies, furniture and dishes for my apartment, a ceramic bikini-clad sheep with outfits (don't ask), an ipod dock/speakers, the TV, a bunch of gift certificates, and other stuff I can't remember.
I ate so much turkey, stuffing, and calorie-laden pastries that I'm shocked my pants still somehow fit, and I drank so much booze that quite frankly I'm in awe that I'm coherent at all. Hooray, holidays! It's a time where gluttony and borderline alcoholism is not only accepted, but strongly encouraged; a time where no one goes to work; a time where everyone passes out with a beer can in their hand sometime around 5am, only to wake up at 1pm, glance quizzically at the beer can, and commence another day's worth of drinking. Now I finally know why all those sappy commercials profess the holidays as the most wonderful time of the year.
And indeed it is the merriest time of the year, as 2007 draws to a close, and 2008 looms on the horizon. Many wonderful things happened in 2007:
- I graduated from college
- I didn't develop a recognized drinking problem (for the most part)
- I ended menopause
- I get to go back on menopause
- I became really single for the first time in years
- I acquired better judgment with men
- I acquired better judgment with friends
- I reconnected with old friends
- I lost a buttload of weight
- I gained back some weight
- I lost the weight again
- I got to be part of a mental breakdown (not my own, for once)
- I started writing my first book (sort of)
- I decided to move back to Boston
- I survived
And as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive.
But those are just fun, trivial things. What really matters are the year's Top 5 Awesome Adventures* - five adventures in 2007 that really made an impact on my life; five adventures that really resonated with me throughout the year; five adventures in which sometimes, I wondered what the hell was wrong with the world in general. Since we have 5 days until 2008, I'd like to begin the countdown with:
(* I thesaurus.com'd the word "shenanigans" as I liked that word, but thought it might be a little too ridiculous to use - these are the results: antics, capers, dirty tricks, fooling around, frolicsomeness, funny business, gag, hanky-panky, high jinks, horseplay, horsing around, misbehavior, mischievousness, monkey business, naughtiness, nonsense, prank, trouble, vandalism. As you can see, I chose "adventure" which was not on that list.)
Top 5 Awesome Adventures of 2007
Number 5: Hawaii: The Night on the Town
For any college student that isn't a massively hideous anti-social freak, March symbolizes one of the most festive, most revered, most awesome times of the year: Spring Break. Not only does Spring Break happen to fall at some point on St. Patrick's Day, it embodies all of the awesomeness that is St. Patrick's Day. It is a week of getting so drunk you think it's a fabulous idea to hit on barstools, old men, and grossly obese women in string bikinis; it is a week of going in and out of consciousness; it is a week of fleeing the freezing cold of the Mid-Atlantic (or wherever the hell you may be) and jet-setting off to destinations like Miami, Mexico, California - or Hawaii.
Obviously, on our last Spring Break as college students, we chose Hawaii.
Yeah! Spring Break! Wooo!!!!Undressed, uncut, uninhibited and totally unbelievable men aside, Hawaii is the (is)land of beautiful beaches, jutting volcanoes, and scrumptious kona coffee ice cream.
And it is the land of Tropical Jiggly.
Tropical Jiggly wass the perfect example of why siblings should not breed; the offspring are not only hideous, but they're mentally retarded on every level of social acceptability. Now, in order to understand the horror that was Tropical Jiggly, I need to explain the situation we were in, and the story of the original Jiggly.
Jiggly was an obese, squinty-eyed parasite that imagined himself to be DC's version of Brad Pitt. He honestly believed he was "cut," "chiseled," and "intelligent." He constantly crowed about how he was going to be a top lawyer in a top firm, and how amazingly intelligent and logical he was (it was the lawyer in him) and how he was going to kick ass on the LSAT (he scored a 147 - to score that low, you need to misspell your own name.)
Unfortunately, he had the IQ of a mud puddle, the personality of a stump, and the looks of a SAM:
And it is the land of Tropical Jiggly.
Tropical Jiggly wass the perfect example of why siblings should not breed; the offspring are not only hideous, but they're mentally retarded on every level of social acceptability. Now, in order to understand the horror that was Tropical Jiggly, I need to explain the situation we were in, and the story of the original Jiggly.
Jiggly was an obese, squinty-eyed parasite that imagined himself to be DC's version of Brad Pitt. He honestly believed he was "cut," "chiseled," and "intelligent." He constantly crowed about how he was going to be a top lawyer in a top firm, and how amazingly intelligent and logical he was (it was the lawyer in him) and how he was going to kick ass on the LSAT (he scored a 147 - to score that low, you need to misspell your own name.)
Unfortunately, he had the IQ of a mud puddle, the personality of a stump, and the looks of a SAM:
This is Sam, literally the World's Ugliest Dog, as crowned by The World's Ugliest Dog Competition
Only an obese SAM. Oh god, it's still looking at me, MAKE IT STOP!
Jiggly was also a racist, spouting off horrifically offensive remarks about Blacks, Jews, Asians, and whatever other races he deemed less important than his own. He was also exceedingly chauvinistic, declaring on several occasions that women were inferior intelligence-wise, and belonged barefoot and pregnant in front of a stove, cooking for the man and breadwinner of the house. Ironically enough, what he wanted most in the world was to be Black (he called himself White Chocolate, declaring in not-so-many-words that he was as hip and bad ass as a Black dude, only with a creamy white exterior) and what he also wanted most in the world was a woman to call his own.
Shockingly, he was not, nor attained, either of those dreams.
In an effort to escape his jiggling clutches, we flew halfway around the goddamn world, only to step out onto a tiny freaking island, and right into the equally-as-evil clutches of Tropical Jiggly. They were the same person, although he was the only one of the two to ever get lei'd. Cymbal crash.
If you'd given Jiggly a tan, set him loose on the beach, and perhaps cut his hair an inch or so, you'd have Tropical Jiggly. The resemblance - both physical and mental - was shocking. Tropical Jiggly got in our good graces by supplying us with an obscene amount of free alcohol on our first night there (since this high achiever worked in a pizza place on the Hilton Hawaiian Village compound where we were staying) and dangling his far more attractive friend (we'll call him Jose, for privacy purposes) in front of our now-inebriated noses. Then he offered us weed. Seriously, what other choice did we have but to hang out with him? We're only human!
Too late, we realized the peril of our choice. Tropical Jiggly commenced stalking us for the remainder of the week, bragging about how he'd been fired from his last job (a parking lot attendant for the military police) for stealing (several thousand dollars, although he probably got caught lifting a $20 and cried like a baby so they booted his ass out), and how he was such a sexy beast (he had rock hard abs, they were just beneath all the fat), and how all of his bitches always wanted sexy time with him, and he had to beat them away with sticks, because they were stupid women, only good for one thing (well two, if you included cooking) and he tired of them easily - unfortunately, they couldn't get enough of him.
His compatriot, Jose, seemed at first like a welcomed breath of fresh sanity. He was rather adorable looking (big soulful eyes, curly tousled hair) and seemed to realize his friend was a giant fucking moron, so when they "accidentally" bumped into us at a bar a few nights later (after "accidentally" bumping into us all around the hotel grounds, by the ABC Store, by every fucking place we went) we let him buy us drinks. Of course that resulted in Tropical Jiggly appearing out of nowhere (an impressive feat, for a man his size) and plying us with more alcohol. The Girl I was with took Tropical Jiggly on the dance floor, and I commenced dancing with Jose. Unfortunately, as everyone knows, after 1 Long Island I no longer have control of myself, so I may have tried to suck Jose's face off in the middle of the dance floor.
Usually, this ends in 1 of 2 ways:
1) Guy ends up being a great time, and I have some fun
2) Guy is a maniac and wants lots of sexy time, and I make up a ridiculous excuse and flee
This time, however, it ended in a new way:
3) A marriage proposal.
Now I know I'm a good kisser, but this was ludicrous. Jose announced, in the middle of the club, that he couldn't live without me - he couldn't. He would die of heartbreak. I had to move to Hawaii and marry him, otherwise his life would be meaningless, and he would waste away, a melted Pina Colada in one hand, a book of bad poetry in the other, and the bittersweet sounds of James Blunt and his pretentious romantic music in the background.
It was one of the most horrifying moments of my life. In front of me stood Jose, on one knee, his soulful eyes large and puppy-ish, brimming with hope, trepidation, and insanity; behind me was Tropical Jiggly, jiggling like the gluttonous heap of flesh that he was; and off to the right, Girl was "playing with guys' emotions" and about to get us messily murdered by some dude that totally lived in his parents' basement, wrote emo poetry, and had an arsenal of weapons at the ready so that he could one day mow down all the jocks who'd teased him in high school. Actually, he did have that arsenal handy, as he'd moved out of his parents' basement and into the Military Police Barracks.
I was trapped.
Like any sane girl, I decided the best option was to flee into the night, and grab a cab back to the hotel. Only problem was, there were no cabs, and Girl with me had created a bit of a mess. She'd stopped flirting with Homicidal Maniac and had moved onto his friend, Pretty but Dim. Homicidal Maniac was looking like he was about to snap and starting murdering everyone in sight, and Tropical Jiggly was heaving himself around in the background. I was too nervous to walk back to the hotel with the Military Police Guys following us (as Homicidal Maniac followed us out of the club and was glaring at us from the shadows - it was actually quite frightening) and while I knew Tropical Jiggly was a fucking moron, I knew he was mostly harmless (and at any rate, we could easily outrun him.)
Luckily Girl also wanted to go back to Tropical Jiggly's (I don't want to think about it) and knowing full well I couldn't leave her there alone (she'd end up being eaten since Tropical Jiggly was always ravenous, and he'd been drinking enough alcohol to fill a lake) I nervously made my way to the apartment, figuring I'd shove a bottle of water down her throat and take her back once she'd sobered up a little.
What I hadn't counted on was Girl disappearing into the bedroom, making a call to the Military Police Guys, then running off into the night (shoe-less and I think bra-less?) and leaving me alone with Jose and his continuous proposals, and Tropical Jiggly's rolls. I had no choice but to take a deep breath, go over the defense positions I learned during my semester in Kick Boxing, and step out into the night.
Now, take a moment and think back to the "The More You Know" videos that we watched in Health Class in High School. Think, in particular, about the ones labeled "Date Rape: When Bad Things Happen to Drunk Girls" and "Get the Fuck out of the Car, You Stupid Idiot." Those are the kind of tapes that explicitly tell young women not to get shitfaced and run off with barrel chested men that can barely string together two sentences (but can continuously pay for alcohol.) They never end well. Either you end up in a Lifetime movie in a hospital bed with two black eyes, a concussion, and a brand spankin' new case of Agoraphobia, or you end up dead and in the bottom of a river, where you're fished out by the Forensic File team and used as an episode on Court TV. Never, ever get in a car with guys you don't know. Especially when there are three of them, and they're all over 6 feet tall and 200 pounds of muscle. Especially when they know all the back streets, all the hidden places, and you've only been to the island once when you were four. Especially when one of them is a guy we nicknamed Homicidal Maniac.
So, incidentally, that's where I found myself: in the backseat of Pretty but Dim's car, wedged between Girl and Homicidal Maniac. I had my stiletto off and in my hand (and I was poised and ready to hurl it through Homicidal Maniac's eyeball if need be) and the other on the door handle (so I could throw Girl out the door and then leap myself, again if need be.) Once we'd paid Pretty but Dim the $1 to leave the parking lot (he didn't have any money on him) we sped off into the night. I took a moment to reflect on my life, and realized the entire thing was completely insane.
After much cajoling and bribing and snapping, I got the Marine Police Guys to bring us to the hotel. By this point it was 4:30am and I wanted to get the both of us the fuck out of the car and into the hotel, so I could throttle Girl once we were safely inside our suite. Girl and Marine Police Guys, however, had other plans.
"Let's go for a walk on the beach," the third guy suggested. This was a guy so large he put body builders to shame. He was ominously quiet and hulking, and his eyes were so intense I was afraid he could kill us without lifting a finger. He was the exact image of what you expect to see on the nightly news, under the headline "Psychotic Escaped Convict Murders Entire Family - Again!" I realized that, all kidding aside, they might actually be planning on taking us onto the deserted beach at 4:30 in the morning, and either maiming us or murdering us (probably both, so no one could ever tell the authorities.) You know how sometimes you just know something? And even though the people with you see nothing wrong at all with the situation, your skin is crawling and your heart is pounding because you know there's a chance you might not walk out of this alive? Yeah, that's what I was experiencing. Talk about instant sobering up.
"Uh, no, sorry," I said, prying the door open and attempting to shove Girl out of the car. "We're tired! Gotta go!" I said, trying to smile (although a glimpse in the rearview mirror showed me baring my teeth, my eyes wild and my hair a terrible mess.) I shoved Girl again, who refused to get out of the car.
"Yeah, let's go! I want to walk on the beach!" she said happily.
I could feel the way Homicidal Maniac & Co. got instantly excited. They kept demanding we go for a walk on the beach with them, or they'd drive to another beach where we could go "for a walk." It was now or never.
And with that I grabbed Girl and hauled her out of the car, shouting "No thanks!" a million times, so that the attendant at the desk might hear us in case we were kidnapped and sped off. I dragged Girl into the hotel and resisted the urge to push her out the window, then buried my head in the pillow and tried not to listen as Girl excitedly chattered on about how much fun it was to "play with guys' emotions."
Let me tell you all this now: If I ever hear that phrase again, I will snap the neck of whoever said it. No questions asked, no thought put into it, no emotion. Just me, Chuck Norrising your ass.
The next morning, after not sleeping, I tottered out of the room and went to get coffee and food with the other girls (while Girl slept on.) As we were passing the pizza joint where Tropical Jiggly and Jose worked, I spotted Jose and frantically put my bag over my face, not wanting yet another encounter with retarded males. I'd have enough of them to last me a life time. We scampered around the building, trying to run away, when he came out the back door and loudly proclaimed his presence.
"What are you doing with that bag? Are you avoiding me? Why doesn't the cell number you gave me work? Did you give me the wrong number? What are you doing tonight? Can I call you? Want to hang out? Want to get a drink? Call me?"
We gave him another fake number and ran away - out of the hotel complex.
And that was Hawaii: The Night on the Town, number 5 on our Top 5 Awesome Adventures of 2007. If you think that's mindblowing, just wait for 1-4.
Jiggly was also a racist, spouting off horrifically offensive remarks about Blacks, Jews, Asians, and whatever other races he deemed less important than his own. He was also exceedingly chauvinistic, declaring on several occasions that women were inferior intelligence-wise, and belonged barefoot and pregnant in front of a stove, cooking for the man and breadwinner of the house. Ironically enough, what he wanted most in the world was to be Black (he called himself White Chocolate, declaring in not-so-many-words that he was as hip and bad ass as a Black dude, only with a creamy white exterior) and what he also wanted most in the world was a woman to call his own.
Shockingly, he was not, nor attained, either of those dreams.
In an effort to escape his jiggling clutches, we flew halfway around the goddamn world, only to step out onto a tiny freaking island, and right into the equally-as-evil clutches of Tropical Jiggly. They were the same person, although he was the only one of the two to ever get lei'd. Cymbal crash.
If you'd given Jiggly a tan, set him loose on the beach, and perhaps cut his hair an inch or so, you'd have Tropical Jiggly. The resemblance - both physical and mental - was shocking. Tropical Jiggly got in our good graces by supplying us with an obscene amount of free alcohol on our first night there (since this high achiever worked in a pizza place on the Hilton Hawaiian Village compound where we were staying) and dangling his far more attractive friend (we'll call him Jose, for privacy purposes) in front of our now-inebriated noses. Then he offered us weed. Seriously, what other choice did we have but to hang out with him? We're only human!
Too late, we realized the peril of our choice. Tropical Jiggly commenced stalking us for the remainder of the week, bragging about how he'd been fired from his last job (a parking lot attendant for the military police) for stealing (several thousand dollars, although he probably got caught lifting a $20 and cried like a baby so they booted his ass out), and how he was such a sexy beast (he had rock hard abs, they were just beneath all the fat), and how all of his bitches always wanted sexy time with him, and he had to beat them away with sticks, because they were stupid women, only good for one thing (well two, if you included cooking) and he tired of them easily - unfortunately, they couldn't get enough of him.
His compatriot, Jose, seemed at first like a welcomed breath of fresh sanity. He was rather adorable looking (big soulful eyes, curly tousled hair) and seemed to realize his friend was a giant fucking moron, so when they "accidentally" bumped into us at a bar a few nights later (after "accidentally" bumping into us all around the hotel grounds, by the ABC Store, by every fucking place we went) we let him buy us drinks. Of course that resulted in Tropical Jiggly appearing out of nowhere (an impressive feat, for a man his size) and plying us with more alcohol. The Girl I was with took Tropical Jiggly on the dance floor, and I commenced dancing with Jose. Unfortunately, as everyone knows, after 1 Long Island I no longer have control of myself, so I may have tried to suck Jose's face off in the middle of the dance floor.
Usually, this ends in 1 of 2 ways:
1) Guy ends up being a great time, and I have some fun
2) Guy is a maniac and wants lots of sexy time, and I make up a ridiculous excuse and flee
This time, however, it ended in a new way:
3) A marriage proposal.
Now I know I'm a good kisser, but this was ludicrous. Jose announced, in the middle of the club, that he couldn't live without me - he couldn't. He would die of heartbreak. I had to move to Hawaii and marry him, otherwise his life would be meaningless, and he would waste away, a melted Pina Colada in one hand, a book of bad poetry in the other, and the bittersweet sounds of James Blunt and his pretentious romantic music in the background.
It was one of the most horrifying moments of my life. In front of me stood Jose, on one knee, his soulful eyes large and puppy-ish, brimming with hope, trepidation, and insanity; behind me was Tropical Jiggly, jiggling like the gluttonous heap of flesh that he was; and off to the right, Girl was "playing with guys' emotions" and about to get us messily murdered by some dude that totally lived in his parents' basement, wrote emo poetry, and had an arsenal of weapons at the ready so that he could one day mow down all the jocks who'd teased him in high school. Actually, he did have that arsenal handy, as he'd moved out of his parents' basement and into the Military Police Barracks.
I was trapped.
Like any sane girl, I decided the best option was to flee into the night, and grab a cab back to the hotel. Only problem was, there were no cabs, and Girl with me had created a bit of a mess. She'd stopped flirting with Homicidal Maniac and had moved onto his friend, Pretty but Dim. Homicidal Maniac was looking like he was about to snap and starting murdering everyone in sight, and Tropical Jiggly was heaving himself around in the background. I was too nervous to walk back to the hotel with the Military Police Guys following us (as Homicidal Maniac followed us out of the club and was glaring at us from the shadows - it was actually quite frightening) and while I knew Tropical Jiggly was a fucking moron, I knew he was mostly harmless (and at any rate, we could easily outrun him.)
Luckily Girl also wanted to go back to Tropical Jiggly's (I don't want to think about it) and knowing full well I couldn't leave her there alone (she'd end up being eaten since Tropical Jiggly was always ravenous, and he'd been drinking enough alcohol to fill a lake) I nervously made my way to the apartment, figuring I'd shove a bottle of water down her throat and take her back once she'd sobered up a little.
What I hadn't counted on was Girl disappearing into the bedroom, making a call to the Military Police Guys, then running off into the night (shoe-less and I think bra-less?) and leaving me alone with Jose and his continuous proposals, and Tropical Jiggly's rolls. I had no choice but to take a deep breath, go over the defense positions I learned during my semester in Kick Boxing, and step out into the night.
Now, take a moment and think back to the "The More You Know" videos that we watched in Health Class in High School. Think, in particular, about the ones labeled "Date Rape: When Bad Things Happen to Drunk Girls" and "Get the Fuck out of the Car, You Stupid Idiot." Those are the kind of tapes that explicitly tell young women not to get shitfaced and run off with barrel chested men that can barely string together two sentences (but can continuously pay for alcohol.) They never end well. Either you end up in a Lifetime movie in a hospital bed with two black eyes, a concussion, and a brand spankin' new case of Agoraphobia, or you end up dead and in the bottom of a river, where you're fished out by the Forensic File team and used as an episode on Court TV. Never, ever get in a car with guys you don't know. Especially when there are three of them, and they're all over 6 feet tall and 200 pounds of muscle. Especially when they know all the back streets, all the hidden places, and you've only been to the island once when you were four. Especially when one of them is a guy we nicknamed Homicidal Maniac.
So, incidentally, that's where I found myself: in the backseat of Pretty but Dim's car, wedged between Girl and Homicidal Maniac. I had my stiletto off and in my hand (and I was poised and ready to hurl it through Homicidal Maniac's eyeball if need be) and the other on the door handle (so I could throw Girl out the door and then leap myself, again if need be.) Once we'd paid Pretty but Dim the $1 to leave the parking lot (he didn't have any money on him) we sped off into the night. I took a moment to reflect on my life, and realized the entire thing was completely insane.
After much cajoling and bribing and snapping, I got the Marine Police Guys to bring us to the hotel. By this point it was 4:30am and I wanted to get the both of us the fuck out of the car and into the hotel, so I could throttle Girl once we were safely inside our suite. Girl and Marine Police Guys, however, had other plans.
"Let's go for a walk on the beach," the third guy suggested. This was a guy so large he put body builders to shame. He was ominously quiet and hulking, and his eyes were so intense I was afraid he could kill us without lifting a finger. He was the exact image of what you expect to see on the nightly news, under the headline "Psychotic Escaped Convict Murders Entire Family - Again!" I realized that, all kidding aside, they might actually be planning on taking us onto the deserted beach at 4:30 in the morning, and either maiming us or murdering us (probably both, so no one could ever tell the authorities.) You know how sometimes you just know something? And even though the people with you see nothing wrong at all with the situation, your skin is crawling and your heart is pounding because you know there's a chance you might not walk out of this alive? Yeah, that's what I was experiencing. Talk about instant sobering up.
"Uh, no, sorry," I said, prying the door open and attempting to shove Girl out of the car. "We're tired! Gotta go!" I said, trying to smile (although a glimpse in the rearview mirror showed me baring my teeth, my eyes wild and my hair a terrible mess.) I shoved Girl again, who refused to get out of the car.
"Yeah, let's go! I want to walk on the beach!" she said happily.
I could feel the way Homicidal Maniac & Co. got instantly excited. They kept demanding we go for a walk on the beach with them, or they'd drive to another beach where we could go "for a walk." It was now or never.
And with that I grabbed Girl and hauled her out of the car, shouting "No thanks!" a million times, so that the attendant at the desk might hear us in case we were kidnapped and sped off. I dragged Girl into the hotel and resisted the urge to push her out the window, then buried my head in the pillow and tried not to listen as Girl excitedly chattered on about how much fun it was to "play with guys' emotions."
Let me tell you all this now: If I ever hear that phrase again, I will snap the neck of whoever said it. No questions asked, no thought put into it, no emotion. Just me, Chuck Norrising your ass.
The next morning, after not sleeping, I tottered out of the room and went to get coffee and food with the other girls (while Girl slept on.) As we were passing the pizza joint where Tropical Jiggly and Jose worked, I spotted Jose and frantically put my bag over my face, not wanting yet another encounter with retarded males. I'd have enough of them to last me a life time. We scampered around the building, trying to run away, when he came out the back door and loudly proclaimed his presence.
"What are you doing with that bag? Are you avoiding me? Why doesn't the cell number you gave me work? Did you give me the wrong number? What are you doing tonight? Can I call you? Want to hang out? Want to get a drink? Call me?"
We gave him another fake number and ran away - out of the hotel complex.
And that was Hawaii: The Night on the Town, number 5 on our Top 5 Awesome Adventures of 2007. If you think that's mindblowing, just wait for 1-4.
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