A new place

After about 10 years of working at the same place, I am finally about to leave. Tomorrow is my last day. It is quite bittersweet. More sweet, than anything, but the loss is familiarity will be very strange.  

Today, I was driving home just reminiscing about everything. I liken it to leaving your childhood home. You're excited because you have this new place you're going to. Some new place to explore and make memories in. At the same time your old house knows everything about you, and you, it:

That's where you dropped the glass dish and it shattered everywhere....that's the creaky corner of floorboard that you always avoided when sneaking about. That wall is where I stood when that weirdo was at the door. 

You'll see your old place again, but it'll never be the same. And, it'll be OKAY.

The biggest thing I'll miss is the sense of community. Working in a small town kind of sucks you in. You feel great knowing the cobbler down the street and waving as you walk by. That one lady that makes incredible banana bread that brings some in randomly for you. That older lady that you had a crush on for forever. That young girl who was always just a bit too happy to see you (DANGER!!!). Everything. 

On this momentous eve, I'm hopeful. There are things behind I'll miss, but there are a great many things ahead that I've yet to experience and then miss all over again.

Moms don't give a fuck.

Excuse me for the brash title, but damn, is it true!

I don't know when it happens. But sometime in between having birthed a child(as mothers do) and you learning how to turn your drooling, garbled speech into something cohesive; moms stop caring about all the little things.  They may have, sometime in the distant past, cared about little things like...I don't know... not looking crazy in malls, public streets, the longs drugs store in Kaneohe. She was dancing her worries away at some disco in town. "DAANNNCCCING QUUUEEEENNN, YOUNG AND SWEEEEET" she would have sung out loud having the speakers drown out her voice. And then you show up. Ruining the late 80s for her. Not that there was much going on, but still. She didn't have to wipe shit off a human being on the daily before you. 

She grew hardened, driven mad by the constant crying and diapers. Not that she doesn't have that soft side of her that sang ABBA at the top of her lungs anymore. It's just buried deep underneath the need to nourish another life. TWO at that (I am a twin, and it was a surprise. BUT! that's for another entry). NOW! fucks were slowly becoming more and more conservative:

 "Does this warrant a fuck? Nahhh, that ain't real enough for me to care about."

So, I was in middle school. It was a cold, windy, rainy day. I had just moved from Oahu to the bay area. In November!? WTF PARENTS. Anyhow. We are walking down the side walk on the main street in my new town. but my mom hadn't brought her umbrella with her. A perfect opportunity for improvisation you would think? You could not be more wrong, friend. So very, very, wrong. My mom (whom, i will preface this with, I love very much) in a stroke of utilitarian brilliance that shone so brightly it blinded her good sense decides to ask a local store owner for a trash bag. My eyes widened with fear as we walk out onto the rain pelted sidewalk. She lets the wind take hold and opens the GIANT BLACK TRASH BAG to hold over her head, shielding her from the rain and also all three young kids' mortified glares. 

Imagine a petite filipina woman and her three kids, their pace quickening with each step. Crossing the street on the main road. A giant trash bag billowing in the wind over mom's head. The rain droplets on the plastic bag creating a nice consistent, tiny percussion to draw your attention towards it. She didn't even have the decency to gather the bag a little to keep the size down. NOPE. A giant kitchen trash bag will protect me from the rain just fine, thank you.  I could not get away fast enough. We desperately tried to tell her to put it down. But, mom's are also scary. So she shut us down pretty fast. We suffered greatly in the minutes walking back to the car. I knew my mom could be dangerous. But, now I had a great embarrassing memory to sear it into my 7th grade mind to verify: Do Not MESS with MOM! She can turn her crazy on, at will, and GIVES NO FUCKS. 

Moms give no fucks.

The end.


The neighbors downstairs

I live in a condo?..townhouse?...thing

My roommate and bestie of years owns it and I just rent a room from him. The area is nice enough. Close to the city, airport, major highways, and public transit. Save for a bunch of fog and being (in my opinion) the coldest place in the bay area, it's quite a good place. Except the  neighbors downstairs. 

The building has four units and two different types of spaces. The two upstairs units are smaller  while the downstairs one is larger and has a back patio. We occupy the upstairs, whilst they have the downstairs. 

These neighbors are the most un-classy folks I have run into. The common area that leads into, and out of, the building is constantly reeeeeeeking of weed.  They have little misbehaving  doggies that are always yelping when I come down the stairs to leave. And they also have something like 37 cars that love to block my driveway whenever they feel it. 



So, I've had this entry saved in my drafts and guess what!? These neighbors have since been evicted. Now, I'm not  one to bask in another's misfortune but these folks totally got what was coming. There were far too many visits from police officers knocking on the building door to get in.  I just hope the little girl who lived there gets a nice peaceful place to live where there aren't a bunch of youths cycling through! 

Almost Home

I got to visit home and it was wonderful. Hawai'i always is. I was sweating constantly with a smile plastered on my face. I had fish! Or, rather, a small piece of poke (I don't eat seafood for all yous readers out there) and it wasn't bad! Slathered in sauce, but it was fine.  I surfed and soaked up all the perf rays. Why did my dad ever make us move from there!? My mom made my favorite meal and I got to spend time with some good friends. Though, I noticed the thing that always has a lasting impression, is leaving...

It's like a mini heartbreak to leave a place so familiar and dear to you. I find myself inhaling deeply at the airport to try and treasure my last few breaths on the island. Once that biting cold air of the airplane hits my nose, it is over. So I inhale. You think how easily you could slip back into place at home. But, then I remember, it is wonderful because it is a sanctuary that I can escape to. It would be divergent from that dream if I were a resident.  And that thought makes the landing back here so much easier. It doesn't keep those thoughts of running back to paradise, out, but keeps me at ease. 


P.S. My Camera ran out of battery (who would have thought to bring a charger!? pssahhh) so I have no other pictures! ughhh




    I arrive home from work, rushing around the house. The only thing on my mind is racing the sun to make it into the ocean and catch a few waves. I glance around my room for some kind of energy to fuel my surf sesh. A-HA! CHEEEETTOOOOOOSSSSSSS. I grab them and throw my gear in my car and start my short drive to the sand (and, mmm, WAVES!). Now, I hadn't eaten anything for lunch and it was going on 7 now. Good thing I grabbed them crunchy cheesies. So I pop that sucker open and start guh-ruuh-bbbbinnn. Looked like a maniac, just jamming hella cheetos down my gullet. The pointer and thumb getting an angrier orange by the second. I get to the bottom, but shoooot, I wasn't about to let those little guys get away! I tip that bag, as one eating cheetos does, to get all the glory. As the bag lowers past my field of vision I see I have drifted over into the other lane, almost HALF WAY! Satisfied eyes quickly turning into terrified and embarrassed eyes. "Damn, that could of been bad" I thought. I park and get suited, and have an aggressively mediocre session. 


Chester done did me dirty.


Dating in the 18th century

So I was just thinking about the whole thing about people losing their ability to socialize face to face, especially in a dating setting, and how tech is bringing us all down and whatnots. yadda yaddas. But, could you imagine what "dating" would be in the 18th century?! I imagine there would been a whole lot more pressure than now. No ignoring of texts there! You'd have to send a letter and wait for their response. Or jaunt on down on your horse down to their estate (obv, I have fantasies of where my standing in the 18th century would have been).  Everything would be all neatly packaged in flowery language. Choice of paper and pen, instead of which emoji to follow up your statement with.

"Hello Miss, The morning light of late has been painting something beautiful. I wonder, if you were up and smiling. Only such beauty could inspire our sun to splash a new orange on his clouds for the new day" 

And would they even really date different people?

Your parents would have to set up this whole thing where you all eat together for the first time. Stealing glances across the table from each other awkwardly. Talking about the family business. And how "Pa is doing quite well, Thank you Mr. Miller".  You stroll down by then pond skipping rocks, finally a moment alone, and you realize. You have nothing to talk about.  EEK! How horrible. Too bad. Your parents and her parents set this whole thing up. Gotta get hitched now!

This point of view got me thinking. We don't have it THAT bad. We've got a much larger pool to select from, and definitely more choice of ponds to stroll. I mean, we've got CARS now.  You may have to deal with an un-returned text or some miscommunication. But, overall, we have it much easier than those before us. If you want to go ahead and fb message your 10th grade crush and totally get ignored when you ask her out after weeks of flirty chats and catching up, you can totally do that now. Totally.

Key lime green selling dreams

So this guy walks into my office the other day:

"Hey, can I ask you a few questions?" he says

"...Don't worry it's nothing serious!" He follows up quickly. His hands up, with his palms facing me. He was sort of bouncing his weight from foot to foot to show it was all light hearted. 

He was probably around my age (28) wearing a key lime green dress shirt tucked into his pleated khakis, which billowed slightly at the pocket. His tie happily swaying in white, blue, and green plaid. Hair was wet down and combed to the right  to seem more professional.  

He was selling packages the peppermill, which is a resort in Reno (apparently, the only four star diamond rated property on the west coast..."a dream" he says). I had no interest in going there and I just realized (after a quick google search) that I actually had stayed there before! MY one and only trip to Reno.

I politely decline.

"You ever go to Carl's Jr?" he asks

"Not Much" I respond

"Ahh I see, you don't like burgers" he says on his way out. Tie following him on his shoulder.

I thought to myself, what a rough way to make a living. I don't know why he stuck in my mind for a while. I wondered why or how he got to that point. He must get rejected so many times a day. That sort of thing must wear on you.

You bump into people everyday and everyone has a story. I think of marbles cascading out of a jar. Where do they end up and which do they touch? Cincinnati? I can't even imagine what's going on there but there's a whole thing there. People selling dreams. People living dreams. 

I wanted to run out of the office to ask this guy who he was (If it weren't for obvious job responsibilities and social restrictions, HA!, I would have). I'm a fairly curious person and want to get to know you. I don't know if it counts as selfish. But, darnit! I GOTTA KNOW.


Leave a comment. Maybe, we'll have pie someday. 


Big baby of a man stinks up the place

   So me and my brother were fresh out of high school, maybe 19 and my dad was helping us pay for rent in a fairly expensive area. Money got tight so he requested we get a roommate to help out. Of course, being 19 and having our own place we didn't really want to have to share with some stranger. Eventually, my dad got mad at us for dragging our feet and gave us a deadline. Sooooo a couple Craigslist responses later we had our dude. Let's call him Dave. Because his name was Dave. Dave was a bigger dude from North Carolina (whom my friends not-so-lovingly nicknamed 'big d' during a drunken party at the apartment) who constantly had a huge pile of trash in his passenger seat and loved to make sweet tea. Always kept his head shaved. So he kind of looked like a gigantic baby of a man. It didn't help that his teeth were on the smaller side. Imagine a giant man with a big grin and little teeth. I don't know, but it was sort of odd looking. He was seemingly a nice guy. Kind of awkward and wanted to study Asian studies. (he once told me that egg rolls were Japanese, the fuhhh!? . Study harder broooo) That being the reason he moved to the bay area. All in all he had not raised any red flags, and I could dismiss all the aforementioned oddities. 


   Any who the first(not so obvious) problem. My brother and I tried hanging out and bonding with him. Took him to our favorite tea place and chatted. He weeaboo loved it. Our friend told us afterwards that he saw Dave's nut sack during our jaunt into the wonderful world of milk tea. Uhhhhh what. How. His jeans seemed to be new, but there was a hole cut right in the crotch area when he could let it all hang out. We thought, maybe, since he's on the bigger side. There's a lot of crotch wear, a lot of rubbing and wear going on. Possibly creating a hole. Subsequently, your nuts fall out your pants. Now, as to why he wasn't wearing any kind of underwear.. Who was I to judge a little freeballin!? Not too crazy, so we dismissed it.

   The second problem came with an alarming knock at the front door in the wee hours of the morning! Who could that be at such an hour? The police! Oddly enough, Dave was already up and at the door breathing heavy. Glasses getting foggy,loudly he booms "hold on, I'm putting on a shirt" (bad choice of words as you'll see. He was already dressed as well which made it even more strange) He urged us to go back to sleep. The police were not about that sleep life. They made us all file out while someone behind a bright light took a look see at us. They ended up cuffing big d and putting him in a car. Very puzzled and seriously thinking we should have screened our applicants a tad bit better we shuffled off to bed to catch what sleep was left in the early AM. Me and my brother found out that they were looking for someone who had flashed the garbage man. Fucking weird. Dots start connecting. We, for some reason, (money, definitely the money) let him back once he made bail.

   The third and final problem was a slow burn. He had gotten used to taking these long showers (when California had that good good water level nahh mean) and I said something about it. Because there was undoubtedly some instance that I needed to use the restroom and ,hey, he needed to be more conscious of the time. He then protested by NEVER SHOWERING. For like, a month straight. He always sat in the same spot on the couch in the living room. Ruined that couch forever. If you could bottle a healthy amount of B.O. and pour it ALLLLLLL over that corner. That's what it smelled like. The thing was he didn't say anything about his silent, retch inducing protest. We just sort of, found out. Passive aggressive comments about bathroom usage was peppered into conversation.  The tension and stench was so thick in the living room you could feel it. My brother and I had regular schedules while he came and went whenever. Not entirely sure what he did or if he went to school.

   So I come home one day, to the living room ransacked of my Xbox, all the games, dvds, a couple shoes, and a stronger stench lingering in the air. He had bleached our couch. Which looking back at, was for the best. (Oh, back track! He had also changed the lock to his room. Which was now, locked.) Called the police and filed a report. Nothing came of it. It was one of the first times in my life where I realized, not all justice is served. What a huge bummer. He had some other violation of streaking on the east coast filed as well. Maybe that's why he left? So we get a hack saw and saw the knob off. His room was completely emptied of his things. Except for some furnishings. He had blacked out the window with a sheet. The room smelled of mildew and big d disgustingness. And a single piece of paper left. It was a promotion flyer for a gay club in the city. We had no idea he was gay! Not that we had any problems with that. But it does explain the lingering looks at my brothers bare chest, post shower. We never found him or got any justice. But was glad to get him out and have my room back. Disinfected that place like crazy before sleeping in it again. Worst roommate ever.


His gold is faded. Fort knox couldn't have held on. My hands shake as they outstretch for him. I knew.  He felt so familiar and entirely different. His fur seems to shift, giving sick illusion to a breath taken. No. Its just the the morning light pouring into the room dancing on the tufts of his back. It keeps fooling me as I inch closer. Fool's Gold. This is much worse. An investment of the heart shattered like a piggy bank swollen with the change of everything you've ever done together. Scattered on the floor, here next to him.