TMI

This subject is a little delicate, so I'm going to try to be as ladylike as I can, okay? Okay. So. Is it only me, or do other people out there get a little, um, libidinous when they get sick?

I think I just figured out why my neighbor told me she can't read this blog anymore. TMI.

Its true, though, and I know I can't be the only one. I'm never that special or unique. I can't figure it out, but its pretty consistent. Most of the time when I catch a cold or a cough or something where I find myself in a reclined position for a day or so, I get concupiscent (how's that for thesaurus work?) I'm at my least attractive (haven't washed my hair since Sunday) I'm usually wearing mismatched pajamas, my legs aren't shaved, I'm surrounded by used tissues, I'm whiney, I'm coughing up a lung, and there is not one single dingle sexy thing about me. And yet... (to be fair, though, maybe just being in the mood is sexy. Most of the time I would just as soon read a good book or watch Lost.) I think it has something to do with the fact that when you finally submit to being sick, you put everything else on hold, and you do not have the energy to worry about anything, you're pretty well- rested, and you're relaxed. Am I right? You don't care that the dishes aren't done and that your kid has watched three hours of television, because YOU'RE SICK and you just want some peace. But I swear: I have the dreams, I have the urges, and, well, there you go.

Is this weird? Am I normal? Is this TMI?

The Apron Scandal

I'm at home with a sickish kid today. I just made a typo where I mistakenly wrote "dickish" kid, and thought about leaving it, but, actually, she's been pretty good. Not a lot of whining about TV, just a little talk back that makes me give her the Mom Stare. I say sickish because she's not that sick. She's sick enough that I wanted to keep her home from school to watch her, and I'm lying in wait for the impending ear infection, and her temperature pops up a degree or so every couple of hours, but it pops back down to normal again without meds, and she's in her room drawing and listening to an audiobook.

Hey, here's a parenting question: how many times is too many times when it comes to listening to the same audiobook? This kid has listened to The Saturdays about 150 times, no exaggeration. Its driving me a little crazy, and she can recite the entire thing (the whole, unabridged, 117 page book, I swear to God) but she seems to like it, and she can sit in her room for long stretches of time, coloring, making things out of construction paper, organizing her Littlest Petshop pets, whatever, giving me a lot of peace. I Have the Power to take it off her iPod and replace it with something else, but should I? Please advise.

I'm a little sick, too. I have a cough and a runny nose, but other than that I feel alright. I took it real easy yesterday, but today I've been roaming around the house, doing this and that, and have not been over taken by the strong urge to take a nap, which is better than most healthy days for me. So, I organized the kitchen utensil drawer; took everything out, wiped down the drawer, sent some utensils to the Rarely Used Kitchen Tools box (yes, I have one of those, and it is labeled thusly) and put back the rest. I have these really old kitchen cabinets, probably original to the house which was built in the late 20s early 30s, and they're wood all over, no metal rollers or anything, and when you push and pull the drawers, they make a fine wood dust that settles on everything in the drawer. I routinely have to clean my mini rubber spatula before I use it because its covered in fine, brown wood dust. So I cleaned everything off and organized it by size, but I can't get the drawer back in. Seems there's an old baby proofing device in my way that I managed to negotiate when pulling the drawer out, but now I can't get it back in.

I also organized the drawer where we keep cloth kitchen things like napkins and dish towels and aprons and I'm here to tell you, my daughter has 4 aprons. For years, I had one apron. It was Rob's old Frugal Gourmet apron, like the guy on TV, who settled out of court with seven men who said he molested them (he settle with 7 out of 20 who accused him, I looked it up.) I wore this apron for years, the child molester apron, and no one believed me when I said I wanted a new apron for Christmas. Meanwhile, my daughter, who only eats five different foods and isn't allowed to use the stove has four aprons. But I did get a new apron, finally, last Christmas and now all is right with the world.

I am really in the mood for apple pie. If you are in my neighborhood, and have a spare piece of delicious apple pie, please feel free to drop it off. This worked with the Tagalongs, so you never know...

Springing into the Weekend

Have you ever had a Klondike bar? They're delicious! And they're cheap and small and I think I've just discovered the perfect dessert snack! I have also gone grocery shopping and washed the dog, and this afternoon I'm going to take the car through the car wash and then go and buy a pitch fork. In between all that, I'm going to make a pitcher of margaritas for softball practice tonight (for the parents, not the girls, although I'm sure their game could only be improved with a little tequila) and I'm thinking of doing some photo organization on the computer. After practice, I will make tacos. Leila has a friend spending the night and apparently she thinks I make the best tacos in the world. I've never had a kid like my cooking, or even eat my cooking for that matter, so if this little kid likes my tacos, then she will have tacos!

Spring has sprung here, and it has put me in a little bit of a mood because spring is the harbinger of summer, and I don't like summer. I like summer vacation, and the beach and stuff, but I don't like summer weather. Too hot for me. But even though I've been scowling at the blue sky and telling the new blossoms to suck it, its hard not to like spring a little bit. I have started thinking of all the things I want to plant, and how I'm going to have an herb garden again this year, and how I have to figure out a way to get rid of moles, and how I feel like taking the dog on a long walk, all these outsidey things. I probably wont actually do any of these things, but they're nice to think about.

How about a Friday Five?

The subject for today is Sleep:

1) How many hours’ sleep do you need in order to be at your best, and what’s the minimum you can get on a regular basis and still be functional? I like a good 8 hours, but I can live on 6 hours. I also enjoy napping, but I consider that entertainment and not sleeping.

2) What’s your favorite sleeping position? On my left side, facing out, with my right leg bent up near my chest and the other leg straight. I have always loved this position, but when I was a kid I thought it was kind of embarrassing because my lady bits felt exposed, even though I was under the covers and probably wearing underpants. While I was pregnant, I would often wake up flat on my back with my elbows out and my hands on my head. You're not supposed to sleep on your back when you're pregnant, but I would wake up this way all the time.

3) What was the cause of your most recent difficulty sleeping? The dryness in the mountains and Rob's cold. And that was with ambien. I rarely have trouble sleeping. I'm really, really good at it.

4) When you can’t seem to drift off to sleep right away, what are some things you do to bring about sleep? I think about what I will do to my house when I win the lottery, and what organizations I will give money to, and what I will buy my parents, and where I will take my girlfriends on vacation. That usually does it. I will also repeat to myself in my head that I don't have to sleep, I just have to rest, and that works pretty well, too.

5) When did you last doze off at an inappropriate time or in an inappropriate place? You know, this question could be the start of a great story from someone, but not for me. I don't generally fall asleep in places or at times that I shouldn't. I'm strictly a bed and sofa sleeper, and sometimes the car, but not when I'm driving.

Have a good weekend!

Guest Post by St. Rob

Clueless douchebags of the world, unite! Yes, it is I, St. Rob, a.k.a CD (clueless douchebag), and I have hacked into this little BH-tinted world to set the record straight on vacation preparedness. First, I'd like to thank the several dads out there (the comments are under 'anonymous' but we know it's dads) who came to my defense and called out BH on the shrew-ness of her last post. If we dads didn't stick together, where would we be?

The truth of the matter of vacation prep is that I do know better than to call into question BH's wine-soaked, pre-trip stress fests, but we all sometimes do things even though we know better, right? Please tell me it's not just me. I think the truth is that I know she's going to be a wacked-out freakshow the day or two before we leave no matter what I do, so why not stick my head in the lion's mouth and look around? She claims that I could help things by lovingly saying "What can I do to help, dear?" What would actually happen if I said that at the time is she would say "Help?!? You can't do anything to help! You're useless to me now, so just go to work already!!"

Anyway, we're back from the trip now, and it was a good one. Leila skied, BH skied and the group-house plan worked out well. And the trip up was more pleasant than it would have been in pre BH blog days. Back then, BH would have spent most of the drive up coming down from being pissed off at me for not helping enough to prepare. Now, she got to vent to all of you, her faithful readers, before we even left. She got most of it out of her system in advance. So, thank you BH fans, you helped make a successful trip. : )

Dude Must Have a Deathwish

Last night I was sitting on the couch with Rob fretting about everything that still needs to be done before we can leave for our ski weekend, and trying to make some last minute decisions. I should clarify that I was doing the fretting and the decision making, he was playing Falling Down on his iPod. The big hang up for me was whether we should leave our dog with a friend or put board him at the vet. So I am making phone calls, thinking out loud, stressing out, and I finally ask St. Rob if he could possibly put his video game down for a minute and help me out and he says to me, "What's the big deal?"

What's. the. big. deal.

I can only assume that he has an unfulfilled wish to be bitten in the face, or crushed under my enormous weight, or otherwise maimed by me because if he didn't, he would never have uttered those words. What's the big deal. Jesus effing Christ.

Now, I get that I am a little type A when it comes to any kind of travel (exhibit A) I have enough self awareness to know that I am a total stressball before we go somewhere. I make a thousand lists, I talk to myself, I am irritable and shrill, and I am a complete martyr about the whole thing. I get it, okay? I know this about myself. But here's the thing: This man has been married to me for more than 13 years, people! HE SHOULD KNOW BETTER !!!

Oh! And you know what else? While I was looking at him in shock and horror after the What's the big deal comment, he says, "Why don't we just not go; you take all the fun out of getting ready for a trip like this." Holy effing shitballs. There are so many things wrong with this, I don't know how to separate them, but let's start with "taking the fun out of getting ready" for a trip: There is NO SUCH THING as having fun getting ready for a trip, which he would know if he ever actually got ready for a trip, but he hasn't, and do you know why? Because, while he sits in his climate controlled cubicle at city hall all day doing quiet and contemplative work, interrupted only by his noon yoga class and his nap on the bus, I AM DOING EVERYTHING! All this shithead will have to do is get in the car and put it in drive. Seriously. And knowing him, he'll probably have one of his headaches and ask me to drive. Well, I've got his headache right here.

He says I should delegate to him, but how does that make sense? He's going to come home from work, eat dinner, and then at 8 o'clock go out and do all the shopping? Or make spaghetti sauce? Or find gloves and goggles for Leila to borrow? Really? Is he new around here? HAS HE MET ME?

I know what you're thinking: I bring this on myself. I am choosing to stress out, I am choosing to make 5 dozen chocolate chip cookies for the trip, I am choosing to lose sleep and make lists and freak out, and I could just as easily choose to mellow out and go with the flow. You're wrong, I cannot choose to mellow out, but more importantly, Rob and our friends will directly benefit from my being stressed and agro now because, as painful as it is for everyone around me, I am efficient, I am organized, I front load the work so I can relax on the trip and put my feet up, and I will have everything covered when we get there.

So, as it is with many of the trips we've embarked on, I want to kill my husband. I wanted to kill him for half the car ride to Disneyland, and I want to kill him now. Most of the time he is a saint and I am a shrew, but some of the time the shrew is right and the saint is clueless douchebag.

If you're reading this, Rob, you should tread very very carefully...

Why am I Doing This?

Here's the deal. I am going skiing this weekend. I haven't skied in a decade. The last time I skied, I was almost 30, not almost 40, and I didn't have arthritis in my stupid knee. But you know what? I am so jealous that everyone in my family is going skiing that I have decided to ski, even though I know exactly all the different kinds of pain I will be in afterward.

I love to ski, which is weird because I think we both know that I normally hate moving my body in any way that would cause me to A) sweat, B) get sore, C) get out of breath, or D) move quickly. The only part of my body that gets regular exercise are these typing fingers, and they are in great shape, let me tell you! And my mouth; yap yap yap.

But I just can't help myself, I am going to ski. Then I am going to whine. I hope I don't break something. I hope I don't split my brand new ski pants. Its lucky I don't embarrass easily.

So I have been in full-on pre-camping mode, but in this case, its pre ski trip mode. Today my jobs are to clean out the car, start packing the duffle bags, take L to the dentist, stare at the dentist office lady in horror when she hands me the bill, make some cookie dough and reheat last night's dinner. Already today I've exchanged Leila's softball socks AGAIN, bought myself some snow gloves, taken an awesome nap, and eaten a slice of Rob's birthday cake.

My mom used to work at these import places and one time she worked for Bogner. She got a lot of free sample stuff and she still has it all. Is it wrong that I just spent $27 on ski gloves instead of ransacking the box of 35 year old snow stuff? I don't want to call attention to myself by wearing vintage snow stuff, from before they put little clips on the gloves so they would stay together. No, I guess I'd rather call attention to myself by screaming all the way down the bunny hill in a snow overalls that hug my body just so. What am I thinking, people?

Comcast Service has been the Best Part of my Day. WTF?

What a day. What a boondoggle. I have four million things on my to do list before going to the mountains this weekend (and I'm not exaggerating even a little bit) but in the middle of it all I decided that I couldn't live one more day without an HD cable box. So I made a detailed list of errands and stops I had to make, in the order I planned to make them, so my trip would be as efficient as possible. The first thing I did was realize, after the second errand, that I had forgotten to unhook and bring along the old cable box for the trade in for the HD box. I drove back home and got the box, just randomly unhooking cables from the back willy nilly, and headed back out on the road.

I found the cable store, 15 miles away, without much trouble, but it turns out I needed the last four digits of Rob's social security number to change the service. Typical that the one bill his name is on is the one that I'm upgrading, right? I have no idea what the last four digits of his social are. I know the first three, but not the last four. AND, Rob isn't answering his phone because he's in the middle of a St. Patrick's Day thing at work. Great. But I convince the nice cable lady, with all my charm and wit, to look at my cable bill, compare it to my ID and last name and just take my word for the fact that no harm will come to anyone if she just trades out the box. She buys it (sucker) and I walk away with a new box, but not before peeling the IR receiver deely bob that magically makes the Tivo work with the cable box off the old box (p.s I only know its called an IR receiver because I've spent the last hour on the internet trying to figure out how to make it work, lest you think I know what I'm talking about, which I do not.)

Anyway, I walk out the door with my new cable box and remote and power cable, and I'm driving south and I'm starving. So I pull into McDonalds for a mini meal (I know, I know, spare me the scolding) and I realize while I'm waiting in line in the drive through that I forgot the IR receiver deal at the cable store. So I get back on the freeway, with my food, and go back to get the thing. The great efficiency of my trip is up in smoke, and I had to postpone two things on the List of Important Errands in order to pick up the kid from school on time. AND the gas gauge was on E.

The HD box is hooked up and working (yay me!) but the tivo remote is still not working. I'm not sure what this means to my recording of Sober House with Drew Pinsky, but luckily they run every episode of that show about 100 times. The kicker of all of this is, we may be canceling cable all together in about a month and a half if Rob doesn't get the promotion he's gunning for. Increase in furlough time = less money + higher insurance premium = no HGTV for Bored Housewife. We're an American Cliche.

Now I'm home with Leila and her friend. Her friend LOVES our dog, and both of these girls keep repeating his name. If I hear his name one more time I'll throw something. I'm wishing I had named him anything but Perry. I've finally brought the dog inside because L is getting annoyed that her friend is paying 100% more attention to Perry than she is to her. So now they are outside in the back yard looking for ant hills, and Perry is inside whining and panting to be with the girls. The question is, what's more annoying: having to listen to two girls say "PERRY NO! Come here, PERRY! PERRY get the stick! PERRY move out of the way!" etc. etc or having to listen to the dog whimper at the back door (that's what she said)?

I'm picking dog whimpering. I'm going to fold some laundry and close my eyes for a while. I am done with this day. Maybe VH1 is playing Sober House AGAIN and I can watch some...

Tagalong DRAMA

I didn't eat all the Tagalongs yesterday, not even close, but I was serious when I said I didn't want to share them. So I kind of pushed them to the back of the fridge and didn't reach for them at all last night while Rob and I were together because I knew he'd want one. Or five.

This morning, after he left for work, I open the fridge and...

THEY WERE GONE!

I rifled through the whole fridge, and they were, indeed, gone. That husband of mine stole them while I was sleeping, that commie. Thought he was being sooooo funny. It was a little funny, but I was mostly mad because I don't think I can get any Tagalongs any more, and not only did he steal them, but he would probably eat them, and because they are so delicious, he would probably eat them ALL.

I started by texting him: Where r my cookies!?

Then there was the following email exchange:

Me: Subject: You Rat Bastard. This house is a very dangerous place for you. I wouldn't come home at all unless you have my cookies, and flowers, and hamburgers, punk.

Me (again): God, I hate you.

Him: i forgot all about the cookies! i was expecting you to look for them for

dessert last night. i wasn't going to leave you hanging for too long, just

for a minute. they're in the right-hand crisper drawer under the brussels

sprouts. : )

Him (again): now, now...see what happens when you give up caffeine in the morning.

Me: You dodged a bullet there mister. I was already plotting my revenge. I had some good ideas too, but Leila kept vetoing them because she thought they were too mean. I thought I ripped the fridge apart looking for them, but I guess I was blind with rage. You like to skate on thin ice, don't you? That's no way to behave when your birthday is coming up!

Him: i'm not sure i want to know what your ideas were. i'm sure they were

proportional to the temporary concealment of $2 worth of cookies. ; ) Is my

guitar still in one piece? BTW, why were you looking for cookies at 7:30 in

the morning?

Me: Why do you think I was looking for cookies at 7:30 in the morning? I WANTED TO EAT SOME! Your guitar is in one piece, but it was touch and go there for a while. Leila nixed the idea of hiding it at a neighbors house until you gave me back my cookies, but that's what I was going to go with unless I thought of something better. And its $4 worth of cookies. But it tastes like $100 worth of cookies.

My precious cookies were indeed under the brussels sprouts, safe and sound, and Rob will live another day. Phew, that was close.

Tagalongs, the Sequel

I just woke up from an epic nap. I needed it after scrubbing the shower tiles. I did that yesterday, and I'm still exhausted. I think since I started this blog I've written everything I can about those tiles and their pink mildew and the mortar showing through etc. etc. so: Moving On.

There's just a couple of things I wanted to tell you today:

1) I received my second box of Tagalongs today, and I've only eaten three of them. That is a triumph considering they are refrigerated and delicious and I would like to eat them all. Rob found the hollowed out box from the other day and was incensed that I didn't save any for him, but I had no remorse. I think I will hide the current box so I can save them for myself. The most dangerous place in California is between me and a box of Tagalongs. Deal with it.

2) The other night, Sunny (the beastly black cat whose butt fur is only growing back in patches) was snuggling with Leila on her bed, kneading, purring, the works. But when she started to drool, which she only does when she's on some kind of snuggle-lovey-high, Leila freaked out and started gagging! I had to kick Sunny out of there, and Leila almost threw up on her bed! I couldn't believe it. I mean, I know cat drool is second only to baby drool as the wettest liquid to ever emanate from any being alive or dead, but gagging? Really? She should have seen what was coming out of Sunny's butt wound before we took her to the vet! Or, for that matter, she should have seen what came out of my face when my cyst exploded. She would have booted for sure.

3) I feel like there was a third thing that I really wanted to tell you, but its gone now. Oh well. If it comes back to me, you'll be the first to know.

4) I just had my fourth Tagalong.

Tagalong with Me to the Bathroom so I can Puke

This morning at school I took delivery of some girl scout cookies that I ordered a while ago. Tagalongs. They're my favorites. They're the peanut butter chunks covered in chocolate with a cookie in there. You can keep your Thin Mints, I'm all about the Tagalongs. Here's the thing, though: With Thin Mints, you get two sleeves of them in one box. I estimate that there are, like, 40 cookies in each box. But Tagalongs, those delicious little morsels, don't come in sleeves, they come in a very eco-unfriendly plastic tray, and each box only holds 15 cookies. I think if the Girl Scouts of America ever decided to put the Thin Mints in a tray of 15 instead of two sleeves of 20 there would be hell to pay. Angry mobs would form, there would be anti Girl Scout Facebook groups, and little girls all over the nation would get pelted with Lorna Doones. Its kind of outrageous, really.

But here's the real problem: This morning at a meeting someone noticed my box of cookies and I told her These will be gone by tonight and I was kind of joking, but not really because at 2:56 p.m. I've eaten more than two thirds of the box.

God, they're delicious.

God, I'm a pig.

I have one more box coming from another girl scout, or, actually, from another girl scout's mother, and those will be gone in a day, too.

So I guess I'm lucky that they don't come in sleeves of 20 because just because there are more, doesn't mean I wouldn't eat them all before sundown. Yes siree: Pig.

***ADDENDUM: I just realized that I never ate lunch today. Just cookies.

Shake it, But Don't Break It

I'm wondering if I really want to humiliate myself for your pleasure by posting the video Rob took of me shaking my booty on stage with the Samoan Chief, but while I ponder that, I'll tell you about this other thing.

It is hard to be almost 40 years old and not be in charge of my own destiny for the two weeks I am in Hawaii with my parents. I have gotten over the thing where my mom has to clear the table the moment that everyone is finished eating, sometimes earlier. And the part where she saves every piece of uneaten food (there were leftover scrambled eggs in the fridge for three days) or how she piles the leftovers onto my dad's plate so she doesn't have to save them, and then later berates him for how much he ate. I'm also getting much better at watching her watch me eat, knowing that she is wondering how I can sleep at night while being so fat. There are a lot of little things I have learned to ignore. But here's the thing: When I'm with them, I don't get to choose what I'm going to eat for any meal. I don't get to watch TV, unless my parents are in the mood which means Larry King if my mom has the remote, and Deal or No Deal if my dad is in charge. (This time, I had to watch the GD Olympics. Just how many times am I supposed to watch someone ski down the same hill? And its only interesting when they're bad at it!) I don't come and go as I please like I do at home, my dad undermines my parenting, my mom gives me pleading little looks when I discipline my kid, but all of these things I can deal with because I get to be in Hawaii, drinking mai tais at noon, but every now and again, things get a little weirder.

Rob joined us the second week of our trip...

***Hold on, I have to go on a tangent: for reasons I cannot fathom, my parents think it is hilarious to make me mad and watch my blood boil. They like to wind me up, and then they laugh so hard tears come out of their eyes while I am ready to start throwing punches. I don't understand this, but its been this way my whole life. When the laughing is mostly over, they like to invoke St. Rob, and pity him that he has to be married to me, and pity him that he has to work so hard, and they tell me, "He'll take our side, just you wait!" Apparently, they think I'm some sort of shrew, and if forced to push one of us in front of the bus, I would have tire tracks on my torso so fast it would make your head spin, and they'd just pour St. Rob another cup of coffee. So the first thing I said to Rob when I saw him at the Honolulu airport was "You're on MY SIDE! Don't forget it! MY SIDE! You have to protect me from them!!" Moving on...

The second night Rob was there, my mom goes, "I think Leila should sleep in our room tonight" She insisted on it. This meant that Rob and I would be alone in the second bedroom, without a romance-crushing 8 year-old on the sofabed next to us. Now, I don't want to seem ungrateful, but its a little creepy when your mom is trying to get you laid. Even creepier that she's trying to get her son-in-law laid. Creepier still when your dad is sitting right next to her watching Olympic curling while she is trying to get you both laid. All I wanted to do in the bed alone with my husband was watch some TV that wasn't Olympics or Larry King, but the pressure! Jeez! I had no choice! I felt like I'd be letting down my mom if I didn't have sex with my husband, and that somehow she would know that I hadn't done it just by looking at me across the breakfast table in the morning, and it would be "poor Rob" all over again! And, while we're at it, how creepy was it for me in the morning after I had done it, knowing that my parents knew that that's what I'd been doing??? We made the mistake of spending our wedding night in a bed and breakfast and in the morning all the other lodgers were looking at us, like We know what you were up to last night!, and the morning in Hawaii was just like that!

No sir, I didn't like it. I think having quiet sex in the corner of the bed with all the lights off while the kid is fast asleep is preferable. I think having sex in the rental car down in the garage is preferable. I think sneaking into the bathroom and pretzeling ourselves around the bathtub is preferable. I haven't done any of these things, but I can't imagine they'd be worse than my mother practically tucking us into the bed, and throwing on some Sinatra.

So, here now, for your enjoyment, is me, on stage with a bunch of other women and children, shaking our money makers for the Samoan Chief. Now that I think about it, it was remarkably easy for the performers to get us all to do this. I want to tell you that while I was shakin' it, I thought I was holding my arms really straight up, and was amazed that I had the physical strength to do it. Duh... So, Rob messes up the video of the kid performing at the variety show, but this he gets right. Awesome.

Don't say I never did anything for you...

I SURVIVED A TSUNAMI, PEOPLE!

Alright, its been more than two weeks. I intended to write while in Hawaii, but I was never alone long enough, and if I try to do this with my parents around, there are way too many questions. I already get mocked for checking my Facebook and my email all the time, and that was plenty.

I just flew in last night, and boy, are my arms tired. Had a wonderful trip, beautiful weather, blah blah blah, but you may have heard that the state of Hawaii was in the news on Saturday...

TSUNAMI WATCH 2010!

(Dun Dun DUUUUUH!)

We were woken up at 6:20 a.m. by the emergency alert system in the resort saying, "May I have you attention please: A tsunami warning has been issued for the Hawaiian islands..." I was a little drowsy, but it didn't take me long to get that warning trumps watch and advisory and I started to get nervous. Images of Thailand were going through my head, and I made Rob go downstairs and move the rental car to a higher parking level. We were under instructions to stay in our rooms starting at 10 a.m. until the state government gave the all clear. Since we were all up early, kind of wigging, my mom and I took a walk down to the marina where boats were leaving to go further out to sea, one after another. It was like a regatta. Then we walked over to the little store in the resort to see if the shelves were cleared of all emergency supplies (chocolate covered macadamia nuts and dashboard hula girls) and there were actually a couple of people in there with baskets full of water and other stuff to get them through.

We went back to our room and turned on the local news. We didn't stop watching for four hours. Across from our resort is a big industrial sight complete with three tankers that were also tugged out of the harbor. That was cool to watch. Leila set up camp under the dining table, with some stuffed animals and video games, but assured me that she wasn't scared. Hm. At noon we made Mai Tais, and realized we were out of mix. Now it was time to panic. The sea outside our window on the 10th floor was calm, but the thought that we could be stuck in that room for hours with no cocktails was almost more than we could handle.

We could see on the news that whatever tidal movement there had been was calming down, and that we would soon get the all clear. We had already put on sunscreen and bathing suits, and once the voice came over the emergency speakers telling us we were good to go, we did just that. Along with everyone else in the resort. It was like ants streaming out of an ant hill, talking about a tsunami that wasn't.

Of course, when you're considering the damage and loss of life that can occur during a natural phenomenon like a tsunami, you hope that nothing will happen and all the precautionary measures will be for naught. But there is a little disappointment. We were told that the first waves would hit Oahu - that was the word they used, hit, like brute force - at 11:18, and at 11:15 I was on the lanai with my camera waiting to see the leftover boats in the marina get tossed around. I was starting to plan what I would do with the money that CNN was going to give me for my footage. But nothing happened. It was kind of a let down.

BUT THEN! We went down to the pool and turned our chairs to face the beach and suddenly the sea just changed like it was pissed off, and resort personnel were running down the sand yelling for people to get out of the water, which they did in a hurry. There are some man-made breaks at this particular beach, and the water started flowing through and over them, like an overflowing bath tub, creating white water where there usually is calm, and the sand in the bay was churned up and spread out like milk in your coffee, and the water just rose, and rose some more. The shore line changed before our eyes, the rock line at the break disappeared bit by bit, and then, the next minute, it reversed itself and drained as quickly as it had come in. You could see how far up the sand it had come, you could see the water line on the rocks, and I'd say it was a two to three foot surge. If you've ever been to the beach and stayed there for any amount of time, you've noticed how, over hours, the waves start getting closer and closer to your towel until you have to move back to protect your stuff from water, right? Well imagine that happening in a matter of three minutes, and then receding a few minutes later. I don't think it sounds as unnerving as it looks in real life, so just believe me when I tell you it was freaky. F.R.E.A.K.Y. It happened two or three times, and then it was over. They kept people out of the water just in case, and one dude had to be rescued from a rip tide, but that was it.

There's more stuff to tell you about Hawaii, like how my boobs are all chafed from wearing a damp bathing suit for two weeks, and how my parents are much nicer to me when my husband is around, and about how I had to shake my butt with a Samoan chief in front of 200 people, and about how I couldn't give two shits about the Olympics, but I think you've hung in there long enough for now. Here are some pics.

Just another day in paradise, no Tsunami... yet.

Leila, waiting out the Tsunami warning under the dining room table.

In between the palm trees, you can see the churned up sand starting to spread.

This was the first surge.

Apropos of nothing, here is the Black Pearl from Pirates of the Caribbean