Hawaii: The Experience (Part 1 of 5)
As of writing this, it's actually the night of my second day in Hawaii, but that's not important. I'll just chronicle the journey from the top.
Morning time. I call Simone and tell her everything has been awesome. You know, in case I don't make it to Hawaii. Nothing else really interesting happens in the waking up and getting out of the house, so I'll be scant on the details. We got up, we left. We rode a cab there by some guy whose name I can't pronounce. Yeah, Arab guy. Anyhow, it's a short ride to the airport. Needless to say, I'm less than enthralled that we are flying a plane (they are known for killing people at random). The security line is, I shit you not, half a mile long. It curved back and forth like a snake through half of the airport lobby. Have you ever seen an airport lobby? That's a lot of fucking people. We finally get to our terminal, lucky number 11. Okay, so there's nothing special about eleven, but when you're convinced that you're going to die in a fiery explosion, little things help. I get to listen to my Cannibal! soundtrack and wait anxiously. Finally we get on the plane. My stepdad makes a joke about dying in a plane crash. Tasteful.
Takeoff is terrifying. Of course, when you're a flightophobe everything is freaky. I pass most of the five hour flight reading a book called Changing Planes. I'm sure there's some kind of irony in there, but for the sake of continuity I'll press on and get to some more interesting stuff. Shrek 2 comes on. I have a funky sandwich for lunch. Blah blah. It's a plane flight, what do you expect? I meet some girl who has to use the bathroom (I'm sitting in the last row mind you). We have a nice little 5 minute conversation about why talking to me about flying on your first flight isn't the wisest thing to do. Her name was Jenny or something like that. I think. As we're landing, the Double Cleff radio station from GTA3 (I have it on one of my CDs) kicks on in my headphones. The effect: as we're landing, really dramatic opera music plays. You know, the kind they play in mob movies when a car bomb goes off or someone gets beaten to death really brutally. Whew.
So we finally land and are in the Hawaiian airport. Don't ask me what the name is, I gave up trying to remember these stupid names the second I got off the plane. If you want an idea, it's in the neighborhood of Wakitaei'itkashae Airport. See what I mean? As we are leaving the airport, I look at a newspaper. The headline reads, "Snorkel Bob Weds Cat", with the subheading, "Big Sales Expected". I wish I was kidding. We continue on from the airport to pick up the rental car. I get to wait outside with the bags. Outside, they are playing the worst song I've ever heard. The lyrics go something like "I'm proud to be Hawaiian. HA-WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!" Those are the ONLY TWO LYRICS in the entire song! Repeated over and over again! All I could think was, "Why are they playing this song of all songs at a 100% tourist zone?" I mean, come on, how many natives rent a car in a place like Maui? Then, my Double Cleff slides over to Blue Danube, and I stop thinking about their terrible music. I really wish I could say that that song was a fluke and that Hawaiian music is okay. It isn't. It's the worst music I've ever heard. It tries to be Bohemian, but Maui is so fucking touristy that it comes off as a joke. And the lyrics are insipid. More on that in the next update. We all get to our rooms and they are pretty cool. We go to the store and get some food. I get a disposible camera so I can show you guys what I'm seeing. It's pretty. At least, what isn't leveled and hoteled is pretty. The rest is pretty tragic. Maui is a giant fucking hotel. Mountains nearby serve to basically show you what Hawaii looked like before we annexed it. Next, everyone jumps into the pool. Now let me tell you, this pool sucks ass. First off, there is way too much chlorine in it. Open your eyes, and they are on fire. I shit you not, I'm a regular swimmer with well seasoned eyes and it hurt. Doug, your eyes would hurt too. Yes, they would. Secondly, there's nothing to grasp on the side. The pool has no lip around the edge to perch on, it just goes straight to concrete, which is burning hot, by the way. And by burning, I mean not only do you notice right away that you've put your hand on something hot, but you can smell burnt flesh. Again, I wish I was kidding. Additionally, the walls and floor of the pool are uberslippery, so you can't push off it or even hardly walk on it. About ten minutes after discovering the shortcomings of the pool, we decided to brave the ocean. Oops.
The ocean in Hawaii sucks. Sorry if you had this misconception of pristine, beautiful beaches, but I have yet to see one. The sand is only about 15 feet wide, and the ocean pounds on it like it owes her money. I call the ocean her because it is, in fact, evil. More than once the tide has washed in over my legs, full of sharp shell pieces and large rocks. Oh, and it sprays in your eyes whenever your guard is down, blinding you like pepperspray. Then it dumps in your mouth and pulls you out. As you writhe in pain and shock, it drags your feet across the rock bottom. When you're lucky enough to get to shore, you're treated to another rock, probably in the back of the ankle because it feels the best there. I decided to show some love for the ocean by throwing a stone at it and yelling, "Fuck you, ocean!" at which point it decided to give the rock back in as quickly a manner as possible. We haven't spoken since.
Somehow, day becomes night. I don't know, it kinda snuck up on us. Everyone was asleep by 7:45. To be fair, for them it was 10:45, so they just kinda passed out. I went down to the pool because there had been no hot girls all day and I was wondering if they only came out when the old people went away. I sat out there for two fucking hours with nothing but Tubby McFatass the eleven year old and Biker Joe, who lost his pool key, along with sorted family members. I swear to God the only even remotely hot girls were moms. Sigh. Finally, two teenage girls about my age came down. They immeadiately recognized some longhaired douche swimming in the pool and talked aloud about how the guys in the hot tubs were queers because they could type fast. All I could think was, "Man, I wish Simone was here." Yes I know that sounds sappy, but maybe I haven't painted enough of a picture for you to imagine why I would say that. I decided to go back to the room and call her. We talked about various things, mostly about how Johnny threatened to kick my ass over the phone to her at 2 in the fucking morning. I pretty much told her that he was about to appreciate the meaning of the phrase, "beaten beyond recognition" if he kept pushing it, and further that if he tried anythingw while I was gone, he wouldn't have the luxury of surviving the encounter. I think up to this point I've been more than fair.
So that's the first day. Of course, I could write about the second day (since it is), but I'm tired. Write it yourself.
Morning time. I call Simone and tell her everything has been awesome. You know, in case I don't make it to Hawaii. Nothing else really interesting happens in the waking up and getting out of the house, so I'll be scant on the details. We got up, we left. We rode a cab there by some guy whose name I can't pronounce. Yeah, Arab guy. Anyhow, it's a short ride to the airport. Needless to say, I'm less than enthralled that we are flying a plane (they are known for killing people at random). The security line is, I shit you not, half a mile long. It curved back and forth like a snake through half of the airport lobby. Have you ever seen an airport lobby? That's a lot of fucking people. We finally get to our terminal, lucky number 11. Okay, so there's nothing special about eleven, but when you're convinced that you're going to die in a fiery explosion, little things help. I get to listen to my Cannibal! soundtrack and wait anxiously. Finally we get on the plane. My stepdad makes a joke about dying in a plane crash. Tasteful.
Takeoff is terrifying. Of course, when you're a flightophobe everything is freaky. I pass most of the five hour flight reading a book called Changing Planes. I'm sure there's some kind of irony in there, but for the sake of continuity I'll press on and get to some more interesting stuff. Shrek 2 comes on. I have a funky sandwich for lunch. Blah blah. It's a plane flight, what do you expect? I meet some girl who has to use the bathroom (I'm sitting in the last row mind you). We have a nice little 5 minute conversation about why talking to me about flying on your first flight isn't the wisest thing to do. Her name was Jenny or something like that. I think. As we're landing, the Double Cleff radio station from GTA3 (I have it on one of my CDs) kicks on in my headphones. The effect: as we're landing, really dramatic opera music plays. You know, the kind they play in mob movies when a car bomb goes off or someone gets beaten to death really brutally. Whew.
So we finally land and are in the Hawaiian airport. Don't ask me what the name is, I gave up trying to remember these stupid names the second I got off the plane. If you want an idea, it's in the neighborhood of Wakitaei'itkashae Airport. See what I mean? As we are leaving the airport, I look at a newspaper. The headline reads, "Snorkel Bob Weds Cat", with the subheading, "Big Sales Expected". I wish I was kidding. We continue on from the airport to pick up the rental car. I get to wait outside with the bags. Outside, they are playing the worst song I've ever heard. The lyrics go something like "I'm proud to be Hawaiian. HA-WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!" Those are the ONLY TWO LYRICS in the entire song! Repeated over and over again! All I could think was, "Why are they playing this song of all songs at a 100% tourist zone?" I mean, come on, how many natives rent a car in a place like Maui? Then, my Double Cleff slides over to Blue Danube, and I stop thinking about their terrible music. I really wish I could say that that song was a fluke and that Hawaiian music is okay. It isn't. It's the worst music I've ever heard. It tries to be Bohemian, but Maui is so fucking touristy that it comes off as a joke. And the lyrics are insipid. More on that in the next update. We all get to our rooms and they are pretty cool. We go to the store and get some food. I get a disposible camera so I can show you guys what I'm seeing. It's pretty. At least, what isn't leveled and hoteled is pretty. The rest is pretty tragic. Maui is a giant fucking hotel. Mountains nearby serve to basically show you what Hawaii looked like before we annexed it. Next, everyone jumps into the pool. Now let me tell you, this pool sucks ass. First off, there is way too much chlorine in it. Open your eyes, and they are on fire. I shit you not, I'm a regular swimmer with well seasoned eyes and it hurt. Doug, your eyes would hurt too. Yes, they would. Secondly, there's nothing to grasp on the side. The pool has no lip around the edge to perch on, it just goes straight to concrete, which is burning hot, by the way. And by burning, I mean not only do you notice right away that you've put your hand on something hot, but you can smell burnt flesh. Again, I wish I was kidding. Additionally, the walls and floor of the pool are uberslippery, so you can't push off it or even hardly walk on it. About ten minutes after discovering the shortcomings of the pool, we decided to brave the ocean. Oops.
The ocean in Hawaii sucks. Sorry if you had this misconception of pristine, beautiful beaches, but I have yet to see one. The sand is only about 15 feet wide, and the ocean pounds on it like it owes her money. I call the ocean her because it is, in fact, evil. More than once the tide has washed in over my legs, full of sharp shell pieces and large rocks. Oh, and it sprays in your eyes whenever your guard is down, blinding you like pepperspray. Then it dumps in your mouth and pulls you out. As you writhe in pain and shock, it drags your feet across the rock bottom. When you're lucky enough to get to shore, you're treated to another rock, probably in the back of the ankle because it feels the best there. I decided to show some love for the ocean by throwing a stone at it and yelling, "Fuck you, ocean!" at which point it decided to give the rock back in as quickly a manner as possible. We haven't spoken since.
Somehow, day becomes night. I don't know, it kinda snuck up on us. Everyone was asleep by 7:45. To be fair, for them it was 10:45, so they just kinda passed out. I went down to the pool because there had been no hot girls all day and I was wondering if they only came out when the old people went away. I sat out there for two fucking hours with nothing but Tubby McFatass the eleven year old and Biker Joe, who lost his pool key, along with sorted family members. I swear to God the only even remotely hot girls were moms. Sigh. Finally, two teenage girls about my age came down. They immeadiately recognized some longhaired douche swimming in the pool and talked aloud about how the guys in the hot tubs were queers because they could type fast. All I could think was, "Man, I wish Simone was here." Yes I know that sounds sappy, but maybe I haven't painted enough of a picture for you to imagine why I would say that. I decided to go back to the room and call her. We talked about various things, mostly about how Johnny threatened to kick my ass over the phone to her at 2 in the fucking morning. I pretty much told her that he was about to appreciate the meaning of the phrase, "beaten beyond recognition" if he kept pushing it, and further that if he tried anythingw while I was gone, he wouldn't have the luxury of surviving the encounter. I think up to this point I've been more than fair.
So that's the first day. Of course, I could write about the second day (since it is), but I'm tired. Write it yourself.
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