Day 4 - Kauai - "This is gross!"

Tuesday morning, and it's not looking too pretty outside.  We had checked the weather report when we first arrived, and we knew that today was pretty much supposed to be the crappiest day weather-wise.  The South Shore is almost always sunny so we decide this would be a great day to head down there.

Once again, we jump in the rental car and head for Poipu.  And then we got lost.  Yeah, Kauai has like 4 main roads, but we managed to get lost?  Yep.  You got it.  After several wrong turns, we find ourselves back on the correct road.  Yes, it's the way Tim thought we were supposed to go to begin with.  Shut up.

We drive to the Hyatt beach so we can park for the Makehewi Cliff hike along Shipwreck Beach.  I wouldn't really call this a hike.  It's just about 2 miles one way, and it's pretty much flat.  You've got some beautiful ocean views & cliff views, and it borders a gorgeous golf course for part of it as well.  It's a really unique location. 

Loved the hike.  Did not love the fact that we didn't bring water.

Dehydration + Emily = Bitchiness

Pretty much everything during this hike pissed me off.  The sun.  The other hikers.  The sand.  My top.  The golfers.  Tim's choice of route.  Really, you wouldn't have liked me.

And when we were done, I was starving.

Dehyration + Emily + Starvation = Mega-Bitchiness

Tim (wisely) wanted to stop at a convenience store on our way back to Lihue to get me some water and chips to tide me over.  But no, I said.  I can make it.  Because I was at that point where I just wanted to be a bitch and be mad.  We had decided that after the hike we were going to go back to Lihue and check out a place called the Whalers Brew Pub that we found in the Lonely Planet.  So we pulled out the map, and we followed directions.  And it was no where to be found.  So we double-checked the map again.  And drove around and around and around.  And still, no Whalers Brew Pub.  Finally, we find the street where it's supposedly located.  No pub.  No brew.  No whales.  Utter disappointment.

At this point, bitchiness is in full effect and eating is essential.  We decide to hit a little burger shack near the Marriott called Kalapaki Beach Hut.  They did not have beer, but they did have an amazing opah sandwich that absolutely saved the day.  Their burgers and shakes were good too - and totally reasonably priced.  Bitchiness has subsided. 

Our afternoon plan was to hit the Lihue Farmers Market for some fresh produce, sample some delicious rum at the Koloa Rum Factory, and maybe do a little Costco-ing.  This plan basically turned into one damn thing after another.  The Farmers Market was in the Costco parking lot, so we stopped in there first.  We realized that they had some way better deals than other groceries.  When travelling to Hawaii, definitely make Costco your first stop.  You'll save a ton of money.  Tim and I, however, are not that bright.  We went to Costco, but did not buy anything because we figured we would find better deals elsewhere. 

We would be wrong.

We went to the Farmer's Market, and we had absolutely no idea what half of the produce actually was.  We left without buying anything.  We went back to Costco and bought everything we should have just purchased in the first place.  Then off to the Rum Factory.  Rum would make everything all better.  Right?  Right?!  Well, it would have if the rum was delicious.  But it was not.  The Koloa Rum Factory isn't actually where they make the rum.  It's just the place where they sell it.  You can get a sample or two while you're there.  The white rum is atrocious.  It tasted like rubbing alcohol.  The spiced rum is slightly better.  It tasted like rubbing alcohol mixed with some cinammon. 

Finally, after our day of missteps and mistakes, we headed home.  After stopping at Fish Express for some ahi poke and salmon lomilomi, we were back at the cottage.  We blissfully made a delicious dinner of grilled shrimp and corn and grilled peppers.  We drank wine and played cards.  We were ready for a new day.

P.S.  It actually did rain today.  For 15 minutes.  During one of our trips to Costco.  So at least we got the weather right. 

Of Mice and Me

So this morning, I got up, straggled to the bathroom (it's still dark outside), and see that Maceo (the more wild of our two cats) is sitting on the toliet seat. This is a bit unusual. I’ve actually never seen him do this. I wonder what he’s doing, but then just completely dismiss it as it’s very early. I go to turn on the shower, and look up, and what's that? What's that running across the shower rod? Yes. It's a rat.
“AAHHH”, I scream. I am screaming my head off. Maceo runs out, and I slam the door. You guys all know how much I hate rats, right?
Finally, Tim runs downstairs, totally buck-naked, and is trying to figure out what's going on. (Side note: He sure took his time about it. His GF is screaming her face off downstairs, and it takes him 5 minutes to wipe the sleepies out of his eyes? Sheesh.) Anyway, apparently, I am hyperventilating and crying (I don't actually remember this), and he can't figure it out what has actually happened. Finally, I manage to get the words out.
A moment later, Tim returns, still naked and armed in work gloves and a reusable grocery bag (see, there are many uses for those things), and bravely faces the rat. He goes into the bathroom, and I hear him yell, "Baby, it's just a little mouse." Hmmm. I am fairly certain it was at least a 4 foot long rat. And everyone knows that men have issues judging size.
At any rate, he catches the mouse/rat, takes it outside, but before he can let it go, it JUMPS out of the bag, and both cats are waiting to pounce on it. Good lord. Tim finally gets the cats inside, possibly with the promise of food that doesn’t run away, and the mouse/rat makes his way to freedom. Presumably. For a minute, sanity is restored in the Cunningham/D’Andrea household.
Until I walk into the front room. It is like a blood bath up in there. I don't know what the hell happened last night, but there is a pile of bloody guts strewn across the room and a pile of vomit in the other corner.
It’s like Maceo and Shadow got wasted, went to Taco Bell, ordered 8 tacos, ate 7 of them, spilling much of them, threw up, and then let the 8th taco run into the bathroom to taunt and laugh at them for not eating it. Okay, maybe it’s not exactly like this but it this made sense to Maura and me.

Let’s pray tomorrow morning is much less eventful.

Instant Karma

Tim and I flew from Seattle to St. Louis to Reagan National last week. When I arrived in DC, I opened up my suitcase to find my jewelry case opened. Each compartment was unzipped.
“How strange,” I thought. “Why would I have packed like this?”
Of course, I didn’t.
Reaching inside the pockets, I realized that almost all of my jewelry had been stolen. Oh, a few things were left. The thief had obviously take her time and picked out what she really liked. I say she because choosing particular pieces is only something a woman would do. And this, for some reason, makes me even madder.
And it’s not like I’m dripping in diamonds, you know? The things she took were mostly inexpensive, but truly sentimental pieces. She took the Tiffany bracelet that Tim gave me for my 30th birthday. And those of you that know me well know how much I wanted that bracelet. I may not wear it as much these days, but still. It’s engraved with my initials, and it’s so special to me. Tim does not buy jewelry, ladies. This was a big frickin’ deal that he went to Tiffany and picked this out for me. A big deal.
She took a beautiful silver chain that I got on super amazing sale last year. She took pendants that I had picked up while traveling in Thailand and Malaysia. They were cheap. But they cannot be replaced. There may be more. I honestly can’t remember what I packed, and I’m afraid that as I go to wear things, I will realize they are gone.
I am trying to keep a positive mind about all of this. I am trying to remind myself that these are just things, just objects. And I am trying not to place such an emphasis on things anyway. I remember the way that Tim looked when he gave me that bracelet. I remember feeling heady from Thai whiskey when I bought that charm. I have those memories, and no one can take them from me.

But still. Karma’s gonna get you, bitch.

Snap Crackle Pop

I am finding it alternately upsetting and hilarious that I am currently reading a book about a woman my own age cooking her way through a famous French cookbook while I had a difficult time making Rice Krispie Treats. Culinary genius, I am not.

It's true. I attempted to make Rice Krispie Treats last night for our staff picnic. And although I do not normally bake, I figured I could whip up some mean Treats because, after all, I used to make these things when I was 8. Ha. Rice Krispies are flying out of the bowl. Marshmallow is stuck to the stove top, my face and my hair as well as to the 3 spoons I am using to try and stir the big goopy mess. Also, one would think that one could purchase the ingredients for the Treats without actually consulting a recipe. Well, one would be wrong. You are supposed to use a 10oz bag of the big marshmallows. I had the minis. A 16oz bag of the minis. I assumed (incorrectly) that 16oz of the minis would actually equal 10oz of the regulars, you know, since they're smaller. This is not good logic. In fact, it's just plain wrong. Thus, the excess of marshmallow. The Treats are actually basically white in color and not Rice Krispie colored because of the addition of 6 additional ounces of marshmallow. Perhaps they should be called Marshmallow Treats instead.

Incidentally, I did get a number of compliments on the marshmallow-lovers Treats today at the picnic.

Watch out, Julie and Julia. I'm coming for ya.

All Messed Up

I am an organized person. I am detail-oriented, orderly, efficient. Very, very organized. Except in one area. And that would be "my room."
I have piles of clothes on the floor. Shoes kicked off in different directions. Undies hanging out of drawers. Stacks of clothes piled high on the dresser. Jewelry that has been knocked off flat surfaces that's now just lost on the floor. Instead of hanging clothes on hangers in my closet, I will lay them across the top of the rack making it impossible to see the clothes underneath. Stacks of old journals and poems and magazines are piled in every corner.
Because of my unbelievable messiness, Tim and I actually switched bedrooms. We now have our regular bedroom where we sleep, and then I have "my room." It's basically just a room where my explosion of crap lives. This move was intially so I could have a "dressing room", a lovely girly getaway designed to give me some of my own space. Instead it has become a sort of a breeding ground for disaster.
This is not a new habit. Nope. Anyone that has ever lived with me can vouch for my (truly) dirty little secret. And no matter how hard I try to keep my room clean, I alway revert back to my old ways.
But why?
How can I be so organized in all other areas of my life? Organized to the point of anal even, but I can accept, nay encourage, this shitstorm of a room in my house? Is it because I can view my room as the one place where I don't have to have it all together? In fact, it IS my little girly getaway? Or is it because I can just shut the door and pretend the mess doesn't exist? Or am I just plain lazy?

D. All of the above.