Blog-o-licious

     When I first started writing this blog, I regularly started looking at how many people were taking a looksy at my writing.  Much like people do when they post a picture of their food or their own face on Facebook and Instagram. Yes, this is a self-centered, egocentric trait many people show these days, including myself, so let's just move on. 

     Seeing at least some traffic on my page, I thought, Cool!  A few here and there, but at least SOME.  Until I realized that every time I logged in, it counted me as a view.  AGHHHHH!!  A day in the life of Julie...

    Well, acceptance is the first step, I guess, so on I go to re-read my own writing and boost my own self-confidence.  :)  

Hey Hey! It's the Kool Aid Guy!!

       As Hurricane Lane made its way to the Hawaiian Islands like an angry, yet exhausted snail, the local news was actively reminding us how to prepare for the worst. The screen projected the crowds heading to Costco in order to load up on the recommended two-week supply of possible provisions needed.
     Upon looking a little more closely at the tv, I noticed the guy they were filming inside the warehouse was loading his cart up with bulk supplies of Kool Aid, a HUGE box of the fruity powder mix in his cart while apparently preparing for a hurricane.  He did slightly resemble Jim Jones, but I'm fairly certain he died in the late 70's, so I digress.
     Now, there's a lot of things I don't understand about people, but I just couldn't grasp his decision-making skills when planning for survival.  Or perhaps I just haven't given Kool Aid a fair chance, but I couldn't stop laughing at even just the news reporter's decision to use that clip to help people prepare for the worst.

Cat Lady, Parte Deux

So yes, we called the cat lady again...Sigh.

The hubs and I decided to visit his folks in Hawaii for the week of Thanksgiving a few years back. As usual, we needed a cat sitter again, so cue cat lady parte deux. However, during her visit to review her duties, she brought another young lady of about 20 years-old. They relayed to me all the health issues this pseudo daughter of hers had, and how she would be assisting with the cat duties while we were gone.

Uhhhh, okay? Is all we could respond with after hearing the list of brain tumors and other ailments we were told that this poor young girl was suffering from. (Tons of odd information to take in immediately after meeting someone unexpectedly and uninvited to help out around the house while we were gone.)

Just as they were leaving, I looked out at their car, and this shady looking guy wearing sunglasses and a crooked baseball cap was hunched in the backseat, peeking out at our house as if we couldn’t see him.

“Oh, I didn’t realize there was someone waiting for you outside,” I said.

“That’s okay, he’s my “daughter’s” fiancé and they need a place to live, so I am helping them out right now,” explained the cat lady.
Red Flaaaagggg.

Meanwhile, this guy had a scowl that said, “Let’s bust this joint, bitches. I need me a burger an' I gots things ta do.” The no eye-contact and discomfort when we were introduced from a distance demonstrated his thoughts, at least in my mind.

The hubs and I were a bit concerned about all the random pieces that were being hurled at us, but we were leaving the next day and hadn’t expected all these additional strangers to deal with.

Fast forward and we returned from our trip, tan, relaxed, and still sobering up from all the Don the Beachcombers mai tais we consumed in Kona. The cat journal was completed, the a/c wasn’t blasting, and all seemed well. Until the next day.

Reading more carefully through the journal, one of the entries said, ”Some oil fell out of your bathroom medicine cabinet. I cleaned up all the glass. The cat must have knocked it out.”  Cue record scratch.

Lex and Luther were both over 13 years-old at that time and they had NEVER tried  opening a medicine cabinet. Plus, this was an expensive sandalwood oil in a heavy glass jar that would have been difficult for them to move in the first place. They were more apt to play with dental floss, if anything.

Then, as I was going through the house checking over the rooms more carefully, I noticed a bunch of white talc powder sprinkled all over the wood floor in our guest bedroom.

That’s weird, I thought. I don’t own any talc powder.

In looking more closely, I noticed a footprint in the powder. My eyes widened like a balloon being filled with helium.  Whose powder? Who was walking around barefoot in my house?? WTF??!!!? My eyes immediately went to the bed and I peeled back the layers of bedding to see if I could tell if anyone had slept in it.  Unfortunately, anyone can make a bed look untouched, so I was left just feeling super uncomfortable at this point.

Later that day, I was unpacking my undergarments and I noticed some items had been moved around in this particular drawer. Cue another record scratch.  (Prior to leaving for Hawaii, I had reconstructed my wedding ring and combined it with my grandma's wedding ring. I had 4 little diamonds that weren’t used and I had placed in a tiny blue silk satchel and left them in this drawer. However, this said little satchel had been moved.)

Oh shit. I counted the diamonds. 1...2...3...4.  Still there, but definitely not in the place I left them. Plus, who the fuck was going through my chonies???? Gross!!!!!!!

I immediately began searching all the places I hid my jewelry, and thank gawd everything seemed to be intact. So I called the cat lady.

At first, I just left a message like, “Hi cat lady, thanks for the journal and taking care of the cats. I have a few questions for you, so give me a call.”

A day later, I called her again.

And another day later, I called her again. (I mean, I needed to pay her and all…) But after the third or fourth call, I was more like, “Look bitch!! Who the fuck did you let stay here and why the hell would you let that happen when we trusted you?? Plus you owe me some sandalwood oil, GAWD DAMMIT!!!”

Just kidding-I would never leave a message like that, but if you could read through the lines you might have heard it.

But she never returned my calls.

Although we didn’t have an enormous a/c bill this time, we apparently had some house guests who smelled like sandalwood and sprinkled themselves with diamonds and talc powder while going through my panty drawer.

Yes, I washed all the undies and bedding in hot water.

And yes, I made sure the 4 diamonds were the real deal by my jeweler, in case they were switched out with fakies.

...and that’s when we decide to take our cats with us the next time we traveled to Hawaii.

Cat Lady

The husband and I used to take long trips during the summer time, loading up a backpack and venturing out into the world. With that, came the issue of finding a cat sitter for an entire month that we could trust, or feel comfortable asking. Our neighbors at the time were major feline fans and recommended a lady they had used to watch all their cats while they were out of town. So we gave the cat lady a call. 

As an introductory meeting, she arrived at our front door completely out of breath. Apparently the walk from her car to our front door had wiped her out. She was severely overweight and seemed to struggle with simple movements like walking into our house. She also had eye make-up that was reminiscent of Tammy Faye Bakker. It was hard to watch since we felt bad for her struggle with simple things. I also thought to myself, How is she going to be able to clean the cat box if she’s this wiped out already?? 

We continued to show her around our place and introduced her to our cats, Lex and Luther. Other than her fatigue, she seemed to love cats and noted she would keep a journal for us so we’d see when she came by and what she did each visit while we were gone. Perfect. 

So after exploring South America for 4 weeks, we arrived home to a cute journal and 2 happy cats. Yet, we also noticed that the air conditioner was blowing full blast. Mind you, we never ran the a/c since we were both raised to suck it up and not waste money on cool air, so we were a little perplexed as to why or how this appliance got turned on. 

Her journal entries reminded me of my science project notebook from 5th grade when I tried growing a plant. (Who allowed me to choose this topic???) “Watered plant” or “put plant outside for sun” were similar to her “pet kitties” or “gave kitties treats”. Until we arrived at the entry, (early on in our trip, mind you) “It was very hot outside so I turned the air on for the cats so they wouldn’t die.”

So in addition to paying for her service, which we didn’t mind doing since our cats were still actually alive, we also had a $265 electric bill for the month we weren’t even home. Being the slow learners that we are at times, we used her services a few months later. Services that got MUCH worse... 

SQUIRREL!!!!!!

     I’m often 

               distracted 

            by 

                                    menial

                      things. 

    Just to illustrate, the window washers in the old “full service” gas stations I experienced back in the 70s were fascinating to me as a little girl. With my blue eyes, and from the backseat of my parent’s metallic turquoise 1967 Mustang, I would engage in the back and forth motion of the squeegee device they used to wash the windshield.

    Back and forth. 

    Back and forth.  

    It was quite mesmerizing to me, along with the smell of “regular” gas that was being pumped into the car just adding to the wonderful ambiance. It was really a great combo for me as a kid, like cookies and cream ice cream or peanut butter and jelly might be to most people. 

     My take-off from Kona proves this point as clearer as the display windows at Macy’s during the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade time of year.  So, as we are accelerating on the runway, I’m trying to appreciate the speed, the views of the lava fields and ocean perspective that we are gifted with. Even with one of my favorite dive spots right alongside of the runway, I get totally distracted by the fingernails on the lady sitting on the other side of the aisle. They’re these bright pink press-on nails that are being worn by someone that looks like they’re in their 30s, and perhaps on their honeymoon. Oh, good for you!

     I mean, I get the whole fake nail thing, sort of.  I tried my hand at them in college...for like a day. Until I couldn’t wipe my ass or take my contacts out without giving me a homegrown colonoscopy or LASIK experience.  Gawd knows how Flo Jo even clenched her fists while running with the nails she had goin’ on.  But those were “fancy” fake nails that have that gawd awful smell when you’re getting them done back in the day, not the Sally Hansen press-on dealios. These were PRESS ON NAILS on Alaska Airlines flight 196!!!!!!!

     So by the time I’ve reminisced about reasons why anyone would get fake press-on nails as a 30-year-old, and Flo Jo (who I randomly had a history class with at Saddleback College in the 80s), I realize I missed the whole take-off experience and I’m now 35,000 feet in the sky for the next five and a half hours next to a lady with bright pink press-on nails. 

     Excuse me, waitress...I’ll have another drink. 

Flo Update

Still no Flo. I’m starting to get worried...

Who is it???????

                              
                                    uhhh...Federal Express!!!!

Its Like Deja Vu All Over Again

      In the area I live, the main highway used to be a 2-lane road until the population began increasing by like 2,000 people a year.  So around 2007, the town leaders had realized that perhaps a bigger road would alleviate all the traffic congestion that was beginning to occur daily.  Fantastic, and way to go, city officials! So the orange cones came out, the detours began, and all was well.  Mind you, this widening adventure began in 2007 and last I looked at my watch, it's currently 2018.  MID 2018 and the orange cones are still standing proudly.

     Over the past year or so, we have seen construction and then no construction, seen construction and then no construction like the tides of the ocean.  Seems there may have been some misunderstandings in planning or possible sacred bones discovered along the way to hold everything up.  No one's really sure. Every once in awhile, a new lane will open up on one section of the highway and, Hooray! All of us drivers sitting in less traffic think to ourselves.  Progress!  But then the cones get dusty, the tractors don't move, and everyone starts to wonder what the hold up is...again.  Although, in our minds we are all saying, WHAT THE HELL IS THE GAWD DAMN HOLD-UP, PEOPLE??????  And then the honking begins.  (Actually, no one really honks here unless there's a goat or a chicken holding up traffic on any given road, or if someone left a cup of coffee on the roof of their car, we might just be trying to let them know.)  But I digress...

    So while driving on the highway a few weeks ago, I discovered that the 2 lanes heading north were finally finished!  Roll the windows down, turn the music up, and time to cel-e-brate!! Let's speed it up!!  Yet, for some reason the posted speed limit remained as a "construction zone" speed and a cop was parked on the side of the highway with a radar gun pointed at us in all our new-lane-glory. He's seriously got to realize that a new lane to drive on is very difficult to maintain a 35 mph speed limit in all our exploratory excitement.  At least for me it is.  But more importantly, on the other side of the wide grassy divider was STILL one lane with tons of traffic much of the day.  In order to open up the second lane that's coned off, all they simply needed to do was black-out the yellow lines and re-draw them in the appropriate color used for same-direction lanes.  Done.  Finished.  Move on to the next construction zone.  Easy peasy.  (Cue record scratch sound.)

     A few days ago, I found myself on this said highway and noticed that not only have they still not finished re-coloring the lines to open up both southbound lanes, they have decided to RE-PAVE the motherfucker AGAIN!!!  I just don't understand the whole road building requirements, but geez c'mon guys!  I think we might need a refresher course in highway repair.

    

Lessons (that should have been) Learned in Kindergarten

I would have to say, hands down, that one of the most hilarious experiences my husband and I have ever had was during our first visit together to the Big Island of Hawaii.  Following a day swimming at Two Steps, we stopped for lunch at a place called the Coffee Shack located on the Upper Mamalahoa Highway. This restaurant had a view that was AH-MAY-ZING, with a panoramic vista of the Pacific Ocean from about 1,000 feet up.

We were seated by the railing of an outdoor patio area and began enjoying our lunch until these two ladies, both wearing white knee-high socks and the free puka shell necklaces they give out upon entering Hilo Hattie’s, walked up and asked if they could join us at our table. Steve and I looked at each other, a bit bewildered, and were perplexed at how to answer their question.  These ladies seemed a little confused at the whole “wait your turn until the next table becomes available” concept, and we attempted to explain this to them, speaking loudly and slowly as we described.

Following our suggestion to perhaps wait their turn, the ladies insisted that there wasn’t anywhere else to sit, AND, they duly noted, there was room at our table since there were only two of us sitting at the four-seater table.  So without further ado, they sat themselves down next to us and began discussing the menu options amongst themselves.

We couldn’t believe it!  We also began looking for candid cameras around the room, thinking to ourselves, There’s no fucking way this is really happening.

Finally, the waitress had figured out what was going on through her amazing deductive reasoning of seeing us uncomfortably eat our meals, while two new ladies at our table, who looked like they just got off the plane, were discussing the menu and asking us what we had ordered.  Our waitress asked the ladies to leave our table, yet they insisted that we had said it was perfectly fine that they joined us. However, the looks we gave her, crossed eyes and shrugging shoulders, demonstrated to the waitress that that was definitely not the case.

I finally lost it, and started cracking up while my head was down, for whatever reason trying to remain polite and discreet.  Meanwhile, the ladies continued arguing with the server until they were finally asked very sharply to leave our table and actually wait their turn.  This was not a family style restaurant, the waitress explained. So with great resistance and anger, the ladies finally got up and stormed down the hallway to stare at us the entire time we sat at our 4-seater table and finished our meal.  #AlohaMahalo.

She's a Feisty Motherclucker!

       Around here, when one of our free-range chickens goes missing it just means one thing...MORE chickens. At first, they act like everything’s normal, until one day you discover a recently missing chicken sitting on 12 eggs. So for the last few days, I've been counting heads and looking for one single, absent, feather-brained bird named Flo.
I named her Flo after the sassy red-headed waitress character in the 1970s-80s tv series "Alice" who always told people who pissed her off to go "Kiss my grits!!!" with that smooth southern drawl of hers.  So from my observations of this particular chicken, if she had been a waitress instead of a chicken, she'd be a sassy beehive hairdo, redheaded Flo.  Her feathers are what I call a "Flo-like" reddish, rusty color with a big ole red mohawk thingamajigger on her head. (This last sentence demonstrates my true inability to be an actual farmer.  Otherwise, I would tell you that Flo is a ----------kind of chicken with a ------ on her head.)
       Side note: I hate it when neighbors ask me what kind of chickens I have.  I just want to say, "They are fucking chickens!!!!" But that's beside the point.

      Let me give you a little background on Ms. Flo.  Being one of my more interactive chicks, Flo hangs around with me while I'm gardening or even just sitting on the front lanai in the morning sipping my coffee. She's one of the first of her brood to meet me when I come out to feed them, and she walks alongside me as I ask her questions about her plans for the day. She's always around.  So when Flo disappears, something has gone awfully awry.

     Flo has demonstrated that she's too good for the nests I've built* for all the other chickens, and she likes to break all the rules, so she's always flying up to the lanai to lay her eggs.  Once she's made her flight, she tries to hide so my husband won't shoo her off in the not-so-quiet manner in which he deals with the chickens who have invaded our deck space. For some reason, once she's laid her egg, she always chooses to take the stairs down, making a thump thump thump sound as she descends to all her nesting chickens below.

     One day, I walked into my office and was reaching for the checkbook, when all of the sudden I realized Flo was nestled on my desk in hopes of me not noticing. No eye contact, no eye contact. Aside from scaring the crap out of me, and once I got a resting heart rate back, I had to encourage her to head back outside, which required a special chicken herding technique that I'm beginning to develop quite well.  A few days later, I noticed all the rags had fallen out of the rag box in the laundry room, and as I attempted to place them back, there was ole Flo sitting in the box.  She's really a foul little bird.

     So after several days of cutting down foliage and looking around the perimeter of the yard, I have not found Flo.  I can only imagine that she's listening to all my efforts in calling her and clucking quietly to herself while she sits on 10 warm, developing eggs.

   *The chicken nests I've "built" consist of empty beer case cardboard boxes from Costco full of scrunched up newspaper.  Take THAT, Pinterest!

Summer Vacay!!

      How did I get to this point in life??? I'm sitting here losing my hearing due to the tile saw serenading me in the background while scribing my first blog post.  (I like to make first times for anything as uncomfortable as possible.)
     So it's the last day of school at my former place of employment, and I've already started receiving drunk calls from the friends I used to celebrate with at the end of the school year afterparty.  It's sort of a bitter sweet feeling to know the excitement they are all feeling today, but I also wish I was there with them.
     Nope. Not me.  Not anymore.
     Now I could leave you hanging while you ask yourself, "Well why doesn't she work anymore?  Did something happen?  Did she quit?  Did she get fired for telling a parent how she really felt about their kid? Maybe she got hurt falling off a ladder while decorating before Open House?"
All valid questions, mind you.  The possibilities are truly endless.
     But for now, I'm off to feed my chickens.  So I post this blog out into cyberspace and have no idea what to expect.  Fireworks? Crickets? A winning Lottery ticket? One milllllllion new acquaintances?
Cheers and happy last day of school, my friends!