So I finally went ahead and booked my roundtrip tix to Honolulu. Just in time for the tradewinds, baby. Sure, getting excited over tradewinds or any kind of wind for that matter might seem strange to anyone who doesn’t know my history of battles against my lifelong arch-nemesis, Humidity.
(You’re probably thinking Humidity looks a lot like the Heat Miser. He most certainly does; but unlike the Heat Miser, Humidity has a Moisture Gun that fires a sweat beam at your armpits and ass crevice.)
I wasn’t planning to go at all after my girlfriend said she couldn’t make it. Was actually looking into a week of scuba diving, river rafting and iguana eating down in Costa Rica or Honduras. But then it occurred to me that I was the one who suggested the group Hawaii trip in the first place; and if I didn’t at least make an effort to go, that’d make me mildly flaky, like cod. So when the $299 specials popped up on Hawaiian Air again, I bought one.
Lodging’s a complicated matter though, as everybody’s coming and going at different times. Squiggy, my leading roommate candidate, is only staying the weekend before heading off to NYC, that jet-setting fucker. Plus Rog, Ophelia, Jill, Trixie and YamYam all have friends in Oahu and may be crashing with them. So it looked like I’d have no one to split a room with.
Someone suggested to me that rather than shelling out for a room by myself, I should hang out in the Luis Vuitton section of a duty free shop, and hopefully find a wealthy old Japanese lady to house me in her Halekulani suite in exchange for dirty sex.
My visions of spanking an elderly woman while dressed as a leather chaps-wearing ninja were interrupted, however, by Squiggy, who emailed Excel spreadsheets mapping the whole hotel situation and pairing up people according to arrival and departure times. So it looks like my lodging problem’s been taken care of … damn. Maybe next time, my wrinkled lotus blossom.