Here’s the latest classic video from LMFAO. These things keep getting better and better!
Here’s more from Leni on vacation in Hawaii:
Friday started early. The time difference, coupled with the fact that I’d lately been getting up at 4.30 for work, meant that by 2am I was up and at ‘em. I decided it would be more fun if my toddler were up too, so gently coaxed her from her prison-like hotel crib by gently wafting a choc-coated Fiber One bar, under her nose. (There had been no bowel movement and much straining since Texas, so, you know: this getting her up in the dead of the night to hang out and eat roughage, was good parenting on my part.) By the time 9am rolled around and my Mother had been procured from the airport, me, my husband and daughter were all, to use an Australian colloquialism, “absolutely knackered.”
I however fought my fatigue to take Mum and the little one to breakfast, while Ryan drove back to the airport to pick up Dad, who was on a later flight.
Mum and I sat in the diner in the hotel’s lobby and enjoyed some stellar comedy from the Asian wait staff there. “You are looking for the toilet miss? It is closed. Until next Tuesday! Hahahahahahaa!”
I did an excellent job at laughing and replying: “Oh my, well that’s a long time to wait isn’t it!” without adding: “No but seriously, where is it? Ive been up since two and subsequently have no patience for merriment.”
Mum had slept on the plane, was in great spirits and was chock full of gossip from home, so I decided to perk up, ordered a glass of my old friend White Zin and settled in to chat. When you’re Australian, you don’t even have to preface a drink order with a cursory: “It’s 5pm somewhere in the world.” Vacations are for any time of day drinking, it’s a national law. Kind of.
I asked about my three sisters, all of whom I adore, and made sibling rivalry notes in my mind. ‘Damn youngest child over achiever lawyer kid! I’ll never earn as much money as her!’
Out loud and regarding the other middle sister besides me, I said, “Jo’s oldest has hit the terrible two’s? Must be tough….” while my own kid pelted sugar packets at the floor. Mum stepped in to help and spent the next two hours providing lots of Grandmotherly attention. It was lovely to have one of the elders of the tribe around, something I get to enjoy all too rarely.
Later that afternoon, we hit the pool on level three. It occurred to me while draped across a sun lounge and covered head to toe in towels, (this lily white skin takes work folks), that I’d been there basically a full two days and had barely seen any actual Hawaii. I relaxed though, knowing that Dad whose nickname is “Captain Itinerary” would soon sort that out.
Dad was too relaxed to be his usual planning self though, which was the product of a misunderstanding with a flight attendant. He had napped on the plane, awoken and asked: “how far in are we?” which the flight attendant interpreted as: “how far in to Hawaii are we?” and thus had responded: “Two and a half hours.” Thinking they were only two and a half hours into a nine hour flight, Dad took enough sleep aides to ensure he’d miss the next seven hours and once landed, had to be roused and near shuffled off of the plane.
He was of course thrilled to see his Granddaughter though and him and Mum fed her fries by the pool and took her for walks around it’s perimeter. (It really wasn’t hot enough to go swimming and my daughter seemed more interested in walking around waving to her adoring public anyway. We are unclear on where she gets her extroverted nature from…..) Soon things got really windy by the pool and I didn’t pay ten bucks per drink garnish to have those chunks of pineapple go gusting off the side of the building, so we turned in for a much needed afternoon nap.
Dinner that night was Mexican, which we actually left the hotel for, so: yay for me, I can now say I’ve, ‘seen the island.’
On the way out I saw someone wearing one of those flower necklace thingies and realized that not a single native had attempted to drape one over my head. Before arriving, I’d assumed that once in Hawaii, one’s neck would immediately be adorned with a wreath of local flora and would remain a veritable flower box for the duration of one’s stay. Perhaps they only give you the flower necklace thingies if you look like a nice person? Or if you look like you are pro-tanning? Or if you don’t look like you’re the drinking at nine am type?
I determined to make it my business to get necklaced at least once before going home. (Yes yes, I actually know that they’re called “lays” but do I really seem like the kind of uncouth and unimaginative woman who would make jokes about getting “laid”? A shame on you, dear reader.) That night I went to bed with a headache and realized that I’d drank plenty all day, but hadn’t eaten enough.
As I drifted off to sleep, I thought: ‘Tomorrow I shall eat lots of food and see if I can get someone to give me a flower necklace thingy….’ Lofty goals my friends….lofty goals.
Leni is halfway around the world in Hawaii, but as usual, she is hard at work. She’s blogging all about her vacation (ON A BLACKBERRY!!) and we’re posting them here to candy95.com so you all can follow along.
Seriously, she’s typing these on A BLACKBERRY!! That’s pretty impressive. Here’s her Day One update:
Well, we arrived in Honolulu yesterday at 2pm, local time. While waiting at the luggage carousel for our bags, I was kneeling down to tend to my daughter when I saw two very long, skinny legs in front of me. Mentally ‘tsk tsking’ at this lady’s obvious eating disorder, I stood up to find her whole back was hunched and twisted in almost incomprehensible ways. Clearly her weight was the product of some physical condition or disease, which of course made me feel terrible for jumping to bulimic conclusions.
She caught me looking at her, so naturally I did my best to smile casually. Lighthearted, breezy, no trace of sympathy. At least, that’s what I was going for: ‘Here we are, two strangers waiting for our bags. Isn’t this lovely?! I certainly haven’t noticed anything unusual about your appearance, if that’s what you’re wondering!’
Fairly enough, she didn’t smile back. I bowed my head and walked on.
On our way through the airport, many people were noticing how cute an eighteen month old dragging a small Dora bag on wheels, can be. Those that didn’t look near gob-smacked at the sheer cuteness of my daughter and therefore smile broadly at her, or me or my husband, were silently deemed murderers or insane.
The air outside the airport was balmy, overcast and extremely humid: among my favorite kinds of weather. In this kind of climate, my hair makes the glorious transition from frizzy to bona fide curly! Which is fantastic! (Girls with perfect, straight, long hair, just chill out for a second and let me have this small victory, would you?) We completed the short stroll to the car rental place, all the while me picking out palm trees in the distance. ‘Good good…those were to be expected…let’s keep this trip within the realm of my imagining, no surprises please…’
There’s something infinitely comforting about palm trees. They’re like the weekend of the tree community. “Oh it’s Monday?”, they seem to be saying. “If it’s ok by you, I’m just gonna go ahead and look Saturday afternoon, all year round.”
The guy behind the desk at the car rental place was one of those disconcerting adults trapped in adolescence. About forty five, with classic surfer looks, it was clearly all he could do to keep ‘dude’ from his vernacular, while arranging our overpriced car. Him I didn’t judge too harshly though, since I’m hurtling toward thirty-two years of age at a rate of knots and still say ‘dude’, which is becoming more and more unsavory, to me at least, the longer I am a parent.
Once we’d been railed in the proverbial by the rental company: “I know you were quoted six hundred for the week, but like, um extra fees and stuff? All up you’re lookin at eleven hundred and fifty,” we finally began the drive to our hotel.
I tried to look out the window excitedly, but I was too anxious about the cost of the car, which had just significantly cut into our budget. I glanced hastily about me, then yanked open the glove compartment: surely for this kind of money there’d be a bottle of Dom left there for our enjoyment, or, I don’t know: a tiny professional Hawaiian dancer to carry around with us, who could also tell jokes and compliment me on my (not frizzy ok!), hair.
Ryan placed a gentle hand on my thigh, the way he does when I’m doing something new and am anxious, then he glanced sideways at me wearing his: “let’s try not to suck ALL the joy out of this Hon,” expression. I smiled tightly at him, took a deep breath and gazed outside at the passing “What Does Meth Do To Your Brain?” Posters.
We finally arrived at our hotel, only to be informed that this was not our hotel. One really good joke the Hawaiian’s have, is to call all their hotels almost exactly the same thing. Or at least I assume it’s an elaborate joke, because why else would I and other guests all around me, be having conversations such as: “Did you want the Hilton Waikiki Village Hotel? Or the Village Hilton Waikiki Hotel?” “Um….let me check…” “Or perhaps you were after the Waikiki Resort Hotel? Or maybe the Waikiki Resort Hotel?” “Hold on…didn’t you just say the same hotel twice?” “No Ma’am. The Waikiki Resort Hotel and the Waikkiki Resort Hotel are pronounced the same, but one is spelled with three ‘k’s not two. So.”
I am but a smidge, exaggerating.
When we finally found the hotel we had reserved and settled in to our room on the 23rd floor, I began to relax. The view of the ocean was incredible and the dozens of towering Honolulu buildings reminded me of Melbourne, which all cities do, because I’m from there and sometimes miss it and therefore make all skylines resemble the place.
The newness of the place was nice too though. The Hawaiian people all seemed relaxed and happy and kind of spiritual. (Those that aren’t addicted to meth, I mean.) Our daughter was happy and excited to be in new surrounds, my parents were due to arrive the next day, life was good and I was filled with gratitude for the chance to be there.
I sipped my nine dollar cocktail, ‘For that price, the rest of the damn Orchid better be on it’s way up to accompany this garnish…” and schemed up ways hubby and I could get tipsy for cheaper, tomorrow. The ocean lapped, the palm trees swayed, some d bag on the television talked out what it’s like to run a salon in Jersey where all the girls wear bikinis. There are most certainly worse ways, to spend a Thursday.
Oh HELL YES!!! Best part?? Completly legit! Tim Burton produced and directed by the guy who did “Wanted”. Is there ANYONE ON EARTH that isn’t pumped up for this film? June 22nd it is SO on!
Meet Malachy. Malachy is a Pekingese and the latest winner of the Westminster Dog Show. I’m not saying this isn’t a lovely animal…but why can’t the GRAND CHAMPION SHOW DOG actually LOOK LIKE A DOG??? Dalmations? Golden Retrievers? COLLIES??? Anything.