She's Been CONAN-IZED!

Charlie and I were both waiting anxiously for a phone call from the Grommet last night. Okay, maybe I was a litte more anxious than Charlie. I'm the mom. He's my baby. I don't care if he's gonna be 20 (Oh Sweet Jesus) in a few months, he's still my baby. Fine, truth be told, I'm always anxious when I'm waiting to hear from one of my kids when they're traveling. Even when I have counted the hours and I KNOW they should be where they should be, it is very hard not to pick up the phone and call or text. I wait for them to call me, let me know they're okay, and then, hopefully, I rest easy.

If it weren't for babysitting Keeva, I probably would have worn tread marks into my livingroom carpet waiting for Bry's call. Wes got stuck in Friday traffic in LA after picking up product from a vendor and decided to wait it out at a friend's house. He called me at the shop and asked if I could take Keeva home with me. He doesn't know how grateful I am, because her puppy energy kept me from clock-watching. Ellie, of course, doesn't look at it that way. That look of "Oh great...the kid is here. Hide my toys." Followed closely by her complete and utter shunning of me is a pretty fair indicator that I have lost my Mommy License for the night.

While I'm chasing dogs and throwing sideways glances at the clock, silently counting back hours to Hawai'i time, the phone rings. I feel a sense of relief wash over me, but then I hear Charlie say; "Hi Honey!" Anxiousness returns. It's not Bry, because the greeting most certainly would have been "Hi Bud!" It's one of the girls. Don't get me wrong, I'm always thrilled when any of the kids call, but when one of them is away and I'm waiting to get that "I've arrived safely" call, that particular kid's call is the only one I'm interested in. I return my attention toward saving Ellie's face from Keeva's rapid-fire tongue lashing.

Charlie seems to be having a great conversation with Averie. He's animated and every once in awhile, he makes some excited exclamation like; "Really? Wow Honey! That's awesome!" I can tell that she's excited as well because I can hear the volume of her voice on the phone on the other side of the room. I'm thinking now that perhaps I should pay attention, so I settle the pups on the couch on either side of me and listen while Charlie talks to Averie. He keeps saying things like; "Well, of course you should!" and "No kidding?" and "Good for you, Aves. I'm SO proud of you!" Okay, okay, okay! I can't stand this anymore. I start making gestures at Charlie to tell me what's going on. He puts that "one minute" finger up at me and nods his head. I don't like that "one minute" finger. It's never really one minute is it? Finally, when I'm just about to explode and grab the phone away from him and his nodding head, he says; "Okay Honey. Yes, yes, I'm gonna tell Mommy right now. Good job Averie. You're on your way Girl! Okay, bye Honey."

OH MY GOD Charlie! Please tell me what's going on! He has that puffed-up rooster look. That look that says; "Make way for proud Dad!" He couldn't smile any bigger as he begins to tell me. Well, it seems that our daughter has been "Conanized". I'll just put the link to the Late Night blog post that mentions the particulars of this esteemed, and sought-after honor. Please scroll to midpage:

CONANIZED

Yep, my talented girl is one of the few. In fact, she's the very FIRST West Coast NBC Page to have that honor bestowed upon them. The "Lisa" mentioned in the post is, in fact, Averie's boss at NBC and told her when she gave her that coveted pin that she should wear it proudly on her uniform, but to keep it safe because people would definitely try to "borrow" it from her.

Whose kid is that? Uh huh..that would be mine. Does she not rock?

Now, was I waiting for a call from someone? Oh yeah. He's toast.

Because it's safe at "Warm Cookies"...

My brother-in-law Raja (his name is Roger, but if you say it like a local Hawaiian with a pidgin accent..you get the idea) is a HUGE Colt Brennan fan. When I was home in March, I took a picture of the back of Raja's favorite shirt. I constantly teased him that I was going to steal it from him, so he was hesitant to take it off. Raja's not Colt's only fan. Pretty much the entire state of Hawai'i loves Colt. Colt loves Hawai'i right back. He played football at the University of Hawai'i and after graduation was drafted by the Washington Redskins. Colt grew up with my hanai nephew, Branden. When I told Raj that I could get Colt's autograph for him, he smiled the kind of smile one smiles when they don't believe you and said.."Yeah, okay Pua." That was 3 years ago. This past weekend, Colt was visiting and thanks to Branden, I was finally able to make good on my promise to Raja. Tomorrow night, when Bryson leaves for Hawai'i, he will be carrying that long-promised autographed picture and will deliver it personally to his Uncle Raja.



But he's also gonna get a picture of me WITH Colt since I can't go home and deliver it myself. Just wish I could be there to see his face.

Facebook Rant

Facebook IS evil. Well, okay. Perhaps that's a bit dramatic. That's because I'm angry. I'm angry and hurt. I'm angry, hurt, disappointed, and surprised. Charlie says I shouldn't be. Charlie says that I shouldn't give it as much energy as I have. Charlie knows me better than that.

I made the mistake of thinking that Facebook was as "safe" for me as my blog. That, like my blog, it was a comfy place where I invite people I know and love to come in, stay awhile, relax, have some warm cookies. Okay, okay, here's the chaser too, you drunken lot I love.

Unfortunately, it hasn't altogether worked out that way. You, my blog family who truly love me, love me here AND there, and that means a lot to me. But those people from my past, especially high school, have drummed up rememberances of a time that really wasn't all that great for me. Here I was worried about how my kids would react to me being out there. I was worried about the wrong thing.

In high school, I was the quiet nobody. Always in the background, painfully shy. Nerd Girl. Plucked unexpectedly off my island home and shipped off to live with my grandparents in SoCal, I was the "exotic-looking" dark girl amongst the blue-eyed, blonde surfers. In the 70's, that California surfer look was what got you noticed. I'm not complaining. I didn't really WANT to be noticed. I wanted to go home. I hated California. Oh sure, I was "sweet". That's what everyone remembers about me. They don't remember that they teased me mercilessly about the scar on my face, or that I was the "chubby" one. They don't remember that they asked me stupid questions about living in Hawai'i and whether we had electricity in our grass shacks. We had electricity before YOU did, you stupid fucks. Look it up. They don't remember that they followed me home from the bus stop and threw paperback books at my head. Why? Because my clothes came from Woolworth's and not OP or Hang Ten and they didn't believe someone from Hawai'i didn't dress in the latest surfer clothes. They don't remember they were cruel. I guess I didn't remember that either, because I went and put myself out there. I felt safe, and loved, because that's what I got here on my blog. I got acceptance. You loved me for me.

Over the last couple of weeks, I've looked at this Facebook thing as a kind of experiment. I've always said that the people from high school who were assholes are still assholes. This from the perspective of going to my 10 year reunion. I never went to another reunion after that, because, well, the assholes were still assholes. The jocks were still jocks, the cheerleaders were still cheerleaders, and me? I was still "sweet", unnoticed nerd-girl from Hawai'i. Not to mention, my kids actually went to the high school I graduated from. So I STILL saw a lot of those people. Why go to a reunion when you're still living it daily? The people that snubbed me then, still snub me. The only difference is I didn't care, because, well frankly, my kids rocked that damn campus with their awesomeness!

So back to Facebook. I've recently been "friended" by the mean girls who followed me home from the bus stop calling me names. It's okay they write me notes like "WOW! It's so nice to see you!" and "Hey, I remember you. You were so nice!" It doesn't bother me so much that they don't remember how they made me afraid to leave my house and how I would beg my next door neighbor to drive me to school because my mother wouldn't. You'd think that after 30 years, I wouldn't have all these painful thoughts rushing back at me. You'd think it wouldn't matter. I NEVER expected these feelings, and the truth is, I feel a bit sideswiped by them. I also got a note from a "popular" guy who said he remembered me because I ran for a Student Body office. Yeah?..nope. Another guy, a football jock that I had an excrutiating crush on who copied all my papers in Civics class and on the last day of school told me to "fuck off" because I asked him to sign my yearbook...well he "remembers" that I was the girl who dated his best friend. Again...nope.

I forgot how much I hated high school. I met Charlie when I was 19. He lit up my world and loved me for me and honestly, he renewed my faith in people. He made me forget all the ugliness. Damn if he didn't do a good job, because I forgot all this crap. I forgot it so well, that it didn't even occur to me that I'd be opening myself up to all those feelings again. I thought I could handle it. But yesterday, I lost it.

I posted a picture of my hanai (adopted) nephew's best friend and myself. He happens to be a professional football player. I've seen this kid, off and on, at every family event over the years, as he and my nephew went to high school together. And I know stuff that the average Joe doesn't know. That's all I'm gonna say about that. Last Saturday, he was in town, and my nephew called me and told me to run across the street and get a pic with him, and a long sought-after autograph for my brother-in-law who is a huge fan. It was exciting and SO joyful. This young man was FULL of Aloha, so sweet, so kind, so humble. He actually thanked ME and he blushed at my excitement. Branden had been trying to get us together for a couple of years, but with all his traveling, the timing just never worked out. Until now.

Leave it to someone from high school to say something COMPLETELY inappropriate and post that comment under the picture. Leave it to my son, and my blog family to come to my rescue. The sad and surprising part to me is that this is NOT one of those people in high school who was mean or unkind to me. This is someone who I always thought was a really good person. This is someone who Charlie knows as well and he is equally shocked and surprised by this person's comments. I think that's what hurts me the most. I ended writing a personal message to that individual. I also chose to remove the picture and the comments out of respect to my nephew, his friend, and his friend's family. They've already been through enough hell because of lying bullshit spewed around by the media and perpetuated as "truth" by ignorant people like this. I'm embarrassed that he used my happy post to hurt me AND this young man.

I have a feeling that I am not long for the Facebook world. I like it right here even if everyone has moved to Facebook and never reads another word I write. Here, I have cookies and booze and hugs when I need them and people don't say shitty, asshole things just because they can.

Jimmy...then Conan!

At the last minute on Tuesday afternoon, Wes told me that I shouldn't make plans for Thursday because we (as in he, his girlfriend, Charlie, and I) were going to the Jimmy Buffett concert. He'd arranged for Caris and his son Justin to run the store on Thursday so that we could have the afternoon off to "let the fin begin." Now, being the Parrothead that I am, I have known for MONTHS that Jimmy was coming to our area, but being as broke as we are, I didn't really have a hope of going. So, it was with great excitement that when Wes started talking about all the stuff we were going to do to have a great set-up at the parking lot party, I happily jumped on. In no time at all, a tailgate menu was planned, a bar and barstools, thatch, tikis, tiki lights, tiki signs, parrots, coolers, Margaritas, and of course limes and salt were loaded into my van and we were following Wes in his dune buggy, "Bugzuka", to the Verizon Amphitheater.


Wes and Janet in "Bugzuka"


The AWARD WINNING House of Tiki Set-Up (We won a bottle of Margaritaville from the JB Promo Team for "best bar")




Wildman Wes on his prized Bamboo Ben Skateboard. Everyone should have a boss that knows how to party!


We got there at 3:00, set up, partied like it was five o'clock somewhere, and went and enjoyed the concert at 8:00. Jimmy showed us a great time. When we got home, Charlie and I laughed at how "OLD" we felt. Backs and feet were killing us, and even though we felt much older, we fell asleep humming a "A Pirate Looks at 40". It was an awesome time.

Luckily, I knew not to drink too much, because I had another important event to attend today. Who am I kidding? The truth is, I can't fit more than one drink into my stomach these days, so it wasn't too hard not to overindulge. I hear tell that some Parrotheads were wishing they could buy NEW heads today! But me? I was all good. Good thing, because today, Caris and I were heading to Los Angeles, at Averie's invite, to attend a Tonight Show with Conan O'Brien test taping.



My awesome daughter worked out with a friend of hers at Universal Pictures casting to get Caris and I a "drive-on", so we could drive right onto the lot. The idea of such a nice "perk" was that we would get there early, get our lot passes, and meet Averie for lunch at the NBC/Uni commissary and after lunch, she would show us around the lot before we went to the show. Unfortunately, even though we left home at noon, we didn't get to LA until 2:30. Normally, the drive from our house to NBC would take around 45 to 55 minutes. But today, the traffic Gods were not with us and we sat in bumper to bumper traffic, missing our opportunity to have lunch with Aves. Still, when we finally got there, we felt very important to have our names on the gate list and have the guard issue us VIP Guest passes. This, in turn, got us a very short walk ON THE LOT to Conan's brand new studio while other audience members had to park about a mile away and be shuttled by a Universal Studios tour bus or walk the long walk and wait outside the gate to be escorted in. I have to admit, I enjoyed having people look at us and wonder why we were special. When we did finally see Averie, she had to "play it cool" and not acknowledge us too much, though we did get an opportunity to meet her boss who couldn't gush enough about how much she loves Ave and what a great job she's doing. Again, I have to admit, I enjoyed the feeling of pride that I had for my terrific daughter.

The show was AWESOME! I loved Carson, but I'm not a big Leno fan. So usually, Charlie and I fall asleep with Letterman. I CANNOT wait for Conan to take over! He was so funny. So quick, so likeable, and really seems like an "everyman". Averie says its been a lot of fun to be around his studio. Though audience members can be maddening because some people are just plain stupid and can't follow rules, she's had a great time absorbing the comedic atmosphere. Caris and I laughed so much our faces hurt and Max Weinberg and the Tonight Show Band ROCKS! We had such a great time. It was really a perfect day; watching Averie in her element and living her dream, and spending time with Caris. My cup runneth over.

Too Much Ado...

I've had a few of inquiries about the "Penis Wrinkle" comment in my Mother's Day post. This is a repost of my entry for November 4, 2005. Seems an eternity ago. As happy as I am that the kids now get along so well, sometimes I miss the banter around the house. I don't, however, miss the housework!

11/4/05
I can't do it. I can't keep up. There is no such thing as a Superwoman. Not that I ever tried to be one. And any woman that tries to should be, as my friend Jeffrey says, flayed. If I hear one more female tell me that she manages to keep a job, a home, a family with three teenagers and a shedding dog, and all that that entails together, I will seriously implode.

As of this morning, my garage is PREGNANT with laundry that seems to replicate on its own. I strongly feel that if I throw a pair of panties and some boxers out there, they will soon reproduce into an entire load of dirty little offspring. Same goes with dishes in the sink. Somewhere, in some far-off land, the dish may have run away with the spoon...but they ran right into my kitchen. And they brought all of their food-laden friends who sit around in the sink like it's a community hot tub and shoot the breeze. The dishwasher? Oh that's just the Black Hole. The dishes sometimes are granted entry, but somehow, none of them ever leaves.

In most homes, the bathroom is the place where people go to refresh and relieve themselves. It could, in a perfect world, be a sanctuary. An escape from the cold, harsh world where a nice, hot, bubbly bath waits to cleanse you of all your cares, if only for a half hour or so. In my house, the bathroom is apparantly a hamper. You just go in and leave your clothes and wet towels on the floor. Drawers, cabinets, and medicine chests? Oh no. Who needs such complications? Simply use every hair product and toiletry known to man and leave them on the counter. And you never need to unplug or turn off any hair appliance either. Our bathroom is magically equipped with a miraculous automatic turn-off switch.

Pets need to be fed? You're kidding? Good Gravy! I thought you just bring them home and cuddle with them. You mean they actually require sustenance and the occassional walk? Children; believe it or not, our carpet is actually beige, not tan with black polka-dots. Perhaps if you take that brush and run it through Ellie's coat every now and then, we might not have a multitude of little black dust bunnies everywhere.

I often wonder how children grow into healthy, happy, well-adjusted, polite, consciencous, young adults when they throw words at each other like:

C to B: Are you missing brain cells?

B to C: Were you born this ugly?

A to C: Are those my earrings you hag?

C to A: You just wish they looked this good on you, jealous wench.

B to A: You call THAT a Halloween costume? You look like a female Donald Trump.

A to B: When did you become such a bitter little penis wrinkle?

I'm going to go to work now. It's safe and clean there. And tikis don't talk. Much.

It Is Enough

I knew Caris and Bry were planning to take me to breakfast. But the honest truth is, I thought, knowing their sleep-in records, that breakfast would be around lunchtime. Imagine my surprise when, at 8:00 AM, Caris and Bryson were BOTH out of bed and getting ready. THEN, I looked out the living room window and saw Averie's car pull up in front of the house. On a Sunday!

Now I know none of them has any money. The fact that Averie lives in LA and gas money alone is something precious, Bryson is saving for his campus visit trip at the end of the month, and Caris, with school busting her chops is barely working enough to pay her car insurance, I did not have expectations for Mother's Day. Seriously, I didn't even know Mother's Day was this past Sunday until Saturday afternoon when Wes asked me what I was doing. When I found out, I told them to PLEASE not buy me any presents. No flowers. No gifts. Don't do anything special. I meant it. There are those days when I'm glad they don't listen to me. This is one of them.

Usually, if we're planning a family outing, Charlie and I are in the car waiting for one dragging straggler or another to finish their hair or makeup. This time, everyone was ready. We were in the car and to the restaurant before I knew it. It's been a LONG time since the five of us were seated at the same table at the same time. I found myself taking a moment to reflect on those years when this was a daily occurrence. While they focused on their menus and laughed about...well, pretty much everything, I watched them interact with each other. For all the years of sweet sibling hugs and "I love my baby brudder", which melted into adolescent screams of "You're a penis wrinkle!" and "Oh yeah? Well, you're ugly!" It all comes full-circle to this. Laughter. The simple enjoyment of each other's company. To plan together to get up early and take me to breakfast.

I listen to their conversations. Where once our table talk consisted of the fact that yellow and blue mixed together make green, or that there's a sleepover at So-and-so's, now they speak of job interviews and resumes, paying their rent on time, and quirky professors who grade their speeches on global and environmental awareness. The fact that two out of three of them can order a Bloody Mary does not slip by me. I wonder where my babies went and how quickly the time passed between a glass of milk and a Mimosa.

The girls pass me a couple of cards and I begin to read. The tears flow onto my Eggs Benedict. No diamond could ever possibly be of greater value than the words in these cards. Bryson looks around uncomfortably. I jokingly ask him where his card is and he grabs a napkin off the table and asks his sisters if they have a pen. Caris says..."Dude, you suck." And just like that, we're back to the "penis wrinkle" days. Priceless laughter. This is my reward. I feel loved. It is enough for me.

Why Is There No Rum?

Another weekend, another Tiki-do. This past Sunday's was a doozy. Named "Bamboo Ben's Nooner", it was hosted by well-known Tikifyer Bamboo Ben. Seriously, Google this man. There's no way for me to explain him without taking up paragraphs and paragraphs. It's a fascinating family legacy, the likes of which, once read or seen, will leave you wanting more.

There have been numerous documentaries, newsreels, and write-ups over nearly 7 decades of his famous grandfather, Eli Hedley (also known as "The Original Beachcomber"). Eli turned the flotsom and jetsom that washed up along the west coast into a million dollar business back in the 30's. He was also the owner of The Island Trade Store in Disneyland's Adventureland back when Disney invited small, independent businesses to lease space inside the park and sell their wares. You just had to buy little "Disneyland" stickers (from Disney, of course) to put on the stuff you sold, pay your rental fees, and give a percentage of your sales to Walt. Eli's little place, directly across from the Jungle Cruise and in the shade of the Tahitian Terrace, operated for nearly a decade before Walt realized how much money he could be making on selling tourist stuff himself and decided not to renew independent leases. But, that's another story. This one's about Eli's grandson Ben.

Ben's a character. The first time I met him a few years ago, he came into the shop with his wife and two boys to see Wes. I didn't realize that I was in the presence of California royalty. No, not that snooty, Hollywood crap. But true, meaningful history. Wes, being a sort of "kindred spirit" in that he also has a colorful, adventurous family that made history along the same lines as Ben's family (See "Truman Bailey; Polynesian Venture) and both ending up with a sort of "pseudo-polynesian" livelihood, filled me in on Ben. He's self-effacing, he doesn't go looking for attention, attention finds him. He makes magic with thatch, bamboo, and a nailgun, and loves his family, ciggies, and Budweiser. Bamboo Ben "builds stuff". But not just ANY stuff. He builds tiki stuff. He has turned ordinary rooms, businesses, and homes into wonderlands of bamboo'ed and thatched delights all from a tiny little shop that is "Open by Appointment or by Chance". If you want a pirate ship in your backyard, or you need a completely enclosed tiki bar built over a weekend for a movie set, or you want to turn your office into the interior of Disney's Enchanted Tiki Room, well Ben's your man. And even if the "jungle" look isn't your thing, consider that the likes of Pixar, Trader Vic's, Don the Beachcomber, Jimmy Buffett, NUMEROUS clubs and restaurants, have all been high profile clients, there's so much more to Ben and his family than meets the eye. I liked him the minute I met him and yet we had barely exchanged but a few words.

One day last year, he came into the store looking for some crushed bamboo panels. Before he left, I asked him to sign my copy of an issue of Tiki Magazine (Yes Jeff, there IS a Tiki Magazine!) where he was the featured artist and his picture (a la Norman Rockwell's self-portrait) graced the cover. He instantly blushed, and looked down at his feet. I handed him the magazine and a Sharpie. He stood there, at the counter, for a good five minutes, struggling over what to write. He said.."I hate this shit. I never know what to write." I said, "Ben, just write your name. That's fine with me." A minute or so later, he smiled and handed back the magazine. He had written, "Aloha Pua, don't smoke! Bamboo Ben." I laughed. He laughed. It was perfect.

So Sunday, Ben had a "Nooner". A parking lot party at his little shop in Huntington Beach. It started at, yes that's right, noon. Tiki vendors of all sorts, artists, musicians, and to top it all off, a gigantic bar in the shape of a tiki..The Ku Bar, created by tiki artist and hot rod afficianado "Notch". Here's some pics so you get the idea..
















Along with a heapload of other well-wishers, we visited with Ben for a minute in his beautiful newly-built tiki bar, Hale Ohe'(House of Bamboo...what else would it be called?) I felt honored to give him a pa'akai pomaika'i (blessing of salt) I made. I know in my heart it made my mom, dad, and Uncle Tatu smile from the heavens. We hurried over to hand off a pan of L&L Mac Salad to Ben's beautiful wife Vicki (better known as "Mrs. Bamboo" in the tiki world). She was everywhere all the time, making sure everyone had everything they needed, and always with a smile.

That feeling of being in the presence of greatness swept over me again at having the opportunity to talk story with Ben's mother Ba, and his Aunty Mare (whose book "How Daddy Became A Beachcomber", I had just finished reading). Through my kids, I've had the chance to meet quite a few "celebrities". But I will tell you that never have I felt as charmed or overwhelmed as I did when I talked to these two lovely women about their magical lives. Charlie kinda had to drag me away from them so that other people could have a chance to speak with them. I felt a little guilty for playing "hog-cheese" with their time. That guilt lasted a minute, because they were just as excited to tell me about their friend Pua Kealoha, who they would enjoy luaus with "back in the day" at their magical childhood home in the cove. In Hawaiian culture, it is the tellings of the kupuna that the generations down the line cherish. I have been brought up at the feet of ohana elders, listening with fervent hunger to their tales. By the same token, my kids loved to sit at the feet of their grandparents and listen to their stories and experiences. It is these that enrich our lives. I could have sat, with reverence, at the feet of these lovely ladies and listened to them talk all day. I felt enriched and more intoxicated by Ba and Mare Hedley than what I could have achieved on an entire barrel of rum. Good thing too, 'cuz, well we'll get to that.

Charlie and I wandered from booth to booth, me; collecting hugs, he; drooling over mugs and art, until we got to the gigantic Ku Bar. Always at the ready these days, I couldn't settle for a red plastic cup like all the other natives, so I pulled two "Haleiwa Joe's" cups out of my purse and put them up on the bar. Come to find that people were stopping us left and right and asking where we got them and if we were selling them. I laughed. It's funny, I go to Haleiwa Joe's every time I go home and have one (or MANY) of their Mai Tais and bring an HJ "Slice of Paradise" cup home with me. I've got a cupboard full because I can't bring myself to throw away that little pocket of "beach" that's encased in the bottom of the cup. It would be like throwing away a piece of home, so to speak. So as un-tiki as those little beauties might be, people loved 'em. Who'dathunk it? I coulda been rich! Rich I tell ya! Ahem...okay maybe not.

Anyway, I had hoped for some fruity, umbrella-laden libation, but we were informed by the man behind the Ku (Notch) that all that was on tap was a keg of Kona. Yikes! Beer for Pua? Why is there no rum? Eh, you do what you gotta do. It's "work" after all. I'll take a couple for the team. Fill'er up Notch! Sacrifices must be made, and as we all know, I'm hardly a virgin. A beer virgin that is ::wink::.


P.S. - Mahalos to the Bamboo Ben Ohana and all the Tiki Ohana from whom I swiped these photos! :)