reflections on a dirty vacation.

In this edition of 'Your Mom Goes To Hawaii,' I'll slowly but surely tie up some loose ends.

Pig update: In my last two weeks at the hostel, I only saw the pigs thrice. I was less apprehensive about seeing them, but because my anxiety level was high (about leaving, about heading home, etc), I was reluctant to walk anywhere on the property alone at night. I still don't like to be startled by wild animals in the dark! Shoot me.

The bidet. I did become accustomed to washing my own ass with a hose while sitting on the toilet. even though it was cold and awkward. Jungle life!

Swimming. I cannot recall the name of the beach that I went to with B, J, L, and A, but I will say this: eff you Portuguese Man-of-War. They were everywhere. Babies, kids, old ladies and your mother were swimming right alongside thousands of these stinging creatures. Me? I opted out. I have never been, nor will I ever be a fan of being stung. The damn ocean is scary enough without these things, even though they are tiny. Get off of me! On another note, seeing sea turtles swim around is pretty damn cool, even if I wasn't in the ocean. Also, standing in the surf, watching the waves roll in and out around my feet gives me crazy vertigo. Nothing like feeling like you're going to fall down in the scariest thing imaginable. Damn, I'm a city girl. I'll sit on the beach in my princess space.

Dirty feet. My feet are still covered in mud and sand from the magical and amazing island, and I kind of don't want to wash it off. I also still want to be barefoot all the time, but that's just plain stupid when you're in a city, let alone downtown (I'm barefoot now, regardless. Old habits are hard to break).

Puna-fication. As in, Puna will take everything you have, including yourself, and dominate it. I chose to leave so many things behind, simply because the humidity ruined them. Mildew is a dirty bitch. As for me, I feel Puna-fied. I no longer care about basic things like showers (I'm not THAT dirty or stinky, I promise) or changing my clothes. Hell, I want to run around naked (again, another thing that doesn't go over well in downtown Denver). Let's roll around in some mud. Fuck it.

Travel. I literally just spent 50+ hours getting from Pahoa to Denver. First a bus, a three hour wait, another bus, a night in a hostel, a five mile walk, three mile hitch, two hour flight, two hour layover, six hour flight, six hour layover, two hour flight and now I'm here. I have maybe slept twelve hours in the past three days. I haven't eaten much. I am so sick of air conditioning. If I have to sit near another talkative five-year-old on a plane, I may be escorted off because of bad behavior. Sigh. Breathe from the belly. It's all over now.

Tan lines. Mine are epic. Ha.

Okey dokey. Think you have your fill for the day?

See ya soon,

Aloha

I'm Ron Burgundy?

Ahh, San Diego. Airport. For six hours. Chain-smoking is going on.

I feel relieved to be back on the mainland, yet anxious to finally be home. I doubt I'll sleep tonight in this freezing airport. My mind is racing. My heart is already aching for a few of the people I got to know in Hawaii, and it always aches for Denver when I'm away from it. I cannot wait to see my friends in the morning.

I know this blog kinda dropped off lately, but I assure you, I had better things to do. The past two weeks have been some of the best of my life. I look forward to detailing some of the finer points here soon.

Until the jet lag wears off,

Aloha