Welcome To The Big Island

I had three goals on this vacation: 1) Not to put on any weight, 2) Not to over spend, and 3) To have a really great time. I certainly managed to have a much better time than I had ever hoped for! And I didn't over spend either. In fact, I didn't spend much at all, nor did I buy anything that I really don't need. I started off really well with the not putting on weight goal. On our second day I again went to the pool and swam laps before we headed out to Kona. But that was the last of me hitting the pool for exercise purposes. Our trip was quite physical, so I figured I'd be fine. But... at some point I declared ice cream as a calorie neutral food and allowed myself full indulgence.

I shouldn't be surprised. Ice cream is possibly the thing I miss most about North America. So I put on a bit of weight. For the record, I have no regrets.

On our second day, we headed in to Kona to do a bit of exploring and to also figure out what sort of activities we would like to do on this trip (basically, all of them). Enter Jill. Jill informed us of all the best tour companies to go with (I don't know if they are the best, but they were all very, very good) and how we could get a discount on all of them if we had a Diamond Card. How does one get a Diamond Card? One goes on a tour of a resort and listens to a sales pitch. After much hemming and hawing and showing of the discounted prices, the parents agreed to go on a tour the following morning.

As all this logistical stuff was taking a lot of time and no final decisions were going to be made on activities, it was quite boring and soon the four of us started wandering off through the little shopping village we found ourselves in. I emerged with a rather awesome t-shirt and new sunnies, miracle sunnies, but I'll get to that later. And we discovered some strange fruit. Strange fruit that bounced when the boys threw it on the ground trying to crack it open.

Once the parents had finally finished making their arrangements with Jill, we gathered the troops and headed out for lunch. This was my first time ordering fish at a restaurant (if we don't count Korea, which we won't). I had spearfish, Cajun style. It was delicious! Tasted just like chicken. And yet, the thought of eating chicken still makes me gag.

After lunch it was time to gather up supplies. I was worried that we'd be eating out at restaurants all the time on this trip, but our condo had a fully functioning kitchen, so we only ate out when we actually were out. Feeding a family of six takes a lot of food, especially when that family includes a 16 year old football player! A trip to Costco was in order. Actually, multiple trips to Costco were in order.

Once we had unloaded our groceries back at the condo, we decided to head out to the beach nearest our hotel.

Later in the trip my Dad would claim that this beach was a black sand beach, so there wasn't really any need for us kids to pester him into driving to some unknown destination with sketchy directions from a local to see a black sand beach. Everyone's glad he didn't win that argument.

The Big Island has all sorts of different kinds of beaches, but they tend to be pretty rocky. This makes them good for spotting ocean life, and not so good for bare feet. Of course, we found this out the hard way. Now, no one can claim that my baby brother John is not committed. This is a man who follows through! Off he went into the water, excited for his first ocean swim. Being under the impression that he was clear of rocks, he started to kick, and... smashed his foot right into a jagged rock.

And that was the end of John's ocean adventure, for a few days anyways. As he was gushing blood, Dad had to take him back to the condo, and then get some supplies to bandage and clean his foot, leaving the rest of us to enjoy the water as the sun set and the moon rose. This beach was cool though, because it was a favourite of sea turtles. They were mostly basking on the far edge of the beach, but every now and then you'd see one swimming in the water on the main edge. In fact, while Maya, Pat and I were goofing off in the ocean, one swam right through us!

Eventually Dad came back for us (the beach being a good 5 minute drive from the condo) and we returned to a sulky John who was positioned in front of the TV, watching college football (for the rest of the trip). The parents had an early morning tour of that resort the next day. John opted to stay home on account of his foot, but Pat, Maya and I decided to get up early and drop the parents at the resort so we could check out a nearby beach that was meant to be great for snorkelling. More on that next time!

Moment of Silence

2010 has not been the greatest year for me, so it's not really a big surprise that as the year draws to a close, the string by which my life has been hanging suddenly reduced itself to a thread. I've been feeling like I'm falling off the edge of a massive cliff, and naturally enough, I've been fighting that feeling. But all the fighting hasn't stopped me from falling. In fact, all it's done is given me a few extra cuts and bruises as I've desperately tried to cling to the rocks on my way down.

But something shifted in me in the last couple of days, and I decided to just let myself fall. Scary though it was, I decided to let go and see what happens. And what's happened has taken me by surprise. Once I allowed myself to just go with what I was feeling and be open about my insecurities, the massive cliff didn't seem so massive anymore. In fact, it's been more like falling out of bed. Yeah, I'm a bit startled and sore, but I'm OK, oh, and hey, now that I'm down here, I've found my missing underwear!

I've been incredibly stressed out this year, and my health has suffered from it. As the summer weather finally started to make itself know in Melbourne, I found myself with a pulled neck muscle and the start of a cold that was leaving me weak, dizzy, and tired. I know I'm in shit when my stress and anxiety takes on physical form, so I was feeling extra done in for this week. That combined with a major freak out about my PhD left me looking to spend my weekend curled up under the blankets, away from the world.

But, a couple chiropractor adjustments later and my neck is feeling fine again. A talk with my supervisors about my PhD has lifted some of the anxiety, and their encouragement to give myself a bit of down time means the world, because it means I can just curl up on the couch and watch unhealthy amounts of Buffy and not feel guilty about not working on my PhD. And - OK this one is gross, I'm warning you now - I decided to actually look at what was going on in my throat that was causing me so much pain and discomfort. Well! It's no wonder I've been feeling miserable! My tonsils are basically rotting.

Strange as this may sound, realizing that's what's happening really changed everything for me. Because my tonsils are horrible! They get infected all the freggin' time. For some reason, they haven't gotten infected in my time in Australia, so that's probably why I wasn't immediately aware of what was happening. It's an easy fix: I've got a doctor's appointment on Tuesday, he'll look in my mouth and say "Hmm, well it's probably an infection. We'll take a swab to be sure, but I'll send you away with a prescription for penicillin and you can start on it now." If I was in Canada I would refuse to leave his office until we had a serious discussion about removing my tonsils, but as my health insurance stands now, I would have to pay out of pocket for the surgery and then be partially reimbursed. So I think I'll wait on having that conversation until I have a medicare card. In the meantime, I'll keep myself on a steady stream of Neurofen for the pain and inflammation.

Because I've had rather a lot of illness this year, I was quite worried about there being something serious wrong with me. Now that I know it's just my 32nd tonsil infection, I suspect all the other health problems were just to do with being extra run down this year. As I've said, it's been a rough year! So now I am feeling quite justified in putting my feet up, watching an unhealthy amount of Buffy, eating some ice cream, drinking some ginger ale, reading books that have nothing to do with my PhD, and sleeping for as many hours as I damn well want. I am not going to yoga and I am not going swimming until this infection starts to clear up (which should be pretty quick once I get on the penicillin).

I walked down to the grocery store earlier this afternoon, and for the first time in quite some time I felt like myself. I had Jay-Z pumping in my headphones, telling the world that he don't give a fuck about their rules, and I just thought, "Since when am I life's bitch?! Since when do I let things being hard stop me? Since when do I let anyone else determine what is best for me?"

Fuck you 2010, I'm taking my life back.

This is death of auto tune, moment of silence.

Socks Code of Conduct

OK, so I know that this is weird and pedantic and all that, BUT! I have a real issue with socks. I don't know why, but I do. And it's not just one of those crazy quirks that I can apply to myself and not judge others by the same standards. Oooh no! I judge people by their socks. I know it's stupid, but when someone tells me they willfully break my sock rules, I reassess why this person is in my life.

I'm writing about this today because I have quite accidentally broken one of my sock rules, and I didn't realize it until it was much too late! I did not mean to leave the house in the socks I am wearing, and now that I have realized this, I will be self conscious for the rest of the day.

So what, exactly, are my sock hang-ups? Well!

1. Mismatching socks - I get distressed if I'm wearing two mismatched black socks, I cannot imagine how someone could go through life wearing completely different coloured socks.
2. Dirty socks - Some things can be worn more than once before they need a wash, but not socks. I would rather go without socks than have to re-wear a dirty pair. Though in a similar pinch, I will re-wear dirty underwear.
3. Toe socks - This is just a whole world of wrong and I don't know how to deal with people who wear these. Also, toe rings. There is never an acceptable time to wear toe rings.

OK, so it might just be those 3, but they do truly repulse me. Honestly, I prefer to go without socks, but that is not always the weather appropriate option.

My breech of conduct today has to do with Rule #2. You see, it's been getting chilly at night and my body has a tendancy to stop supplying my toes with any blood when I'm cold, resulting in my having blue toes during winter. I have realized that this can be prevented if I wear socks to bed (I used to have a rule expressly forbidding this, but needs must I dropped it). Normally I sleep in really thick wool socks that I would not be able to wear a shoe over, and hence, never leave the house in my bedtime socks. But lately I've been using a pair of just regular wool socks, which I do wear in my shoes during winter. And this morning, I forgot to change my socks. Now my feet are overly warm and I feel like an embarassment to society.

In un-sock related news... I've got my new computer. It probably would be quite exciting, except I reached my download limit on my internet at the same time, so I haven't actually been able to properly set up my new computer. Also, I didn't want to have to buy a new computer, so I wasn't super thrilled about it anyways. It's a netbook, which is another reason I'm not super thrilled. But, it is super light and tiny, and so it will be handy for working on the go. I'm sure I'll come around to it in time.

Phobia

Phobias. Everyone's got 'em. An irrational fear of something. And today I came face to face with mine.

So what is it that turns your normally brave and adventurous narrator into a quivering pile of girly screaming jelly?

Death? No, I like being alive but I'm not afraid to die.
Public speaking? Makes me nervous, but that is all.
Spiders? Nah, we're cool. I've killed red backs and white tails without so much as a squeal (though disposing of the bodies is another story altogether...)
Heights? Nope, I'm not the person with the white knuckles gripping the rail.
Balloons? No, I'm quite fond of balloons.
Clowns? I never read that particular Stephen King book...

Bees. Bees scare the fuck outta me. Bees and wasps.

I don't know why these little honey makers fill me with sheer panicky terror. I'm not allergic to them (and if I was, it wouldn't be a phobia, it'd just be sensible). I've been stung enough to know its not the end of the world. Nevertheless, I am absolutely terrified of these little creatures. Over the years I've gotten a bit better with bees. I know they won't sting me unless provoked, so I can generally control myself enough to not shriek and duck for cover and wet myself. Wasps...I generally freeze, turn white, and start dripping big beads of sweat until they fly off or whoever is around me goes "Oh for fuck sake!" and gets rid of them for me.

I haven't had any close encounters with bees or wasps in quite some time. Long enough that I was starting to wonder if maybe my phobia of them is more habitual than genuine. Oh no, it's genuine!

I was walking home from the grocery store this afternoon, listening to my ipod, lost in my thoughts, when I something on my shirt caught my eye. Closer inspection revealed that A BEE was sitting on my boob! It looked happy enough, sitting there, having a rest, enjoying the breeze blowing over it's horrible furry body. Meanwhile, I was coming to terms with the fact that my worst fear was sitting on my boob and I was gonna have to deal with it on my own.

My first instinct, I shit you not, was to just get the fuck outta my shirt and run like hell. Not run like hell because I would then be standing on my street in the middle of the afternoon in my bra, but run like hell to get away from the shirt, which I would never, ever, ever come back for. But I had my headphones in and if I pulled my shirt off, it would've got stuck in them. So, with my shirt halfway off my back, I changed strategies.

I tried to shake it off my shirt, praying that this wouldn't result in it flying up into my face as then I would have burst into tears and started pleading with God to spare my life (again, not allergic to bees). The bee, for it's part, sought out less shaky ground and started crawling it's way up my shirt, towards my face. Again, my shirt almost came off, and I started pleading, out loud, with the bee to please, please just get off of me.

The thoughts rushed through my head: "Why did this have to happen to me when I'm all by myself? Lady Cop is meant to be protecting me from this very fate! Damn her for not being here! Look, it wouldn't be the end of the world to just leave the shirt and the groceries and whatever else behind to get away from this bee. Who cares who sees me?"

I had about 5 seconds to get the bee off my shirt before I said "fuck it" and got the shirt off of me. I grabbed a stick off the ground and bent down so I was close to the ground, gave the bee a flick, and resumed breathing. It was off. And with any luck, it was too confused about what had just happened to be angry with me. I grabbed my groceries and headed home, shaking like a leaf and hyperventilating. Seriously, I didn't shake that much when I got mugged.

Do I feel braver for having successfully confronted my biggest fear? HELL NO! It was AWFUL and I can assure you I will be just as big of a panic stricken baby if it ever happens again. All I can say is thank goodness I live in Australia where any passers by would likely assume I had a rather deadly spider on my shirt and that my reaction was quite sensible.

Did you know that public pools were started to encourage public hygiene?

Before I moved to Melbourne I really wasn't a fan of swimming because it involved the use of public pools - you know, where the public go. And the public is fucking gross! I should know; I'm a member! But, about a year ago some of my office mates and I decided that since we'd put on the cake weight together, we could take it off together. Swimming, we decided, would be the way to do this. Thus began our weekly (occassionally bi-weekly) trips to the city baths.

I was weary of this swimming business at first. All those wet toilet seats and hair covered floors of my youth were cackling their germy laugh in my head: "Step into the change room Joni, let us stick to your skin!" But I decided to give it a go before dismissing it as just too nasty to deal with. Besides, I'd already been to the Harold Holt pool and that hadn't been horribly gross.

My first visit to the city baths was a pleasant surprise; the change room practically sparkled with cleanliness. The day shift cleaner, I must say, is a saint! I could kiss her she keeps things so clean! I have been going back to the city baths regularly ever since, and have long gotten over my disgust at pool change rooms (even when they don't sparkle with cleanliness).

Hmph. You wouldn't think this germ business would be such a big deal for someone who once willingly drank directly from the Nile...

For the past, oh, month I've had just about every cold that's gone around. And as you can imagine, this has left me a tad phlegmy (see? Public = gross). And yes, when I swim sometimes I contribute a trail of snot to the water. But today I was put in a phlegm confronting situation!

As I was stretching after finishing my 50 laps, I noticed that someone had hacked up a rather hearty amount of phlegm onto the side of the pool. My initial reaction was to be incredibly grossed out, but a little voice inside of me said: "Hang on there Ms. Omigod That's So Gross! Would you rather they have hacked that up and spat it into the water in which you are swimming? And for that matter, what, exactly, do you think YOU would have done in that situation?" Admittedly, if I'd hacked up that much phlegm there's no way I would be putting it back in my body, and I would have been really cranky if I'd swam into that mess.

So yes, public pools are kinda disgusting places, but hey, where better for all our germs to mingle? *cough* *cough* *public transit* *cough* *cough* At least the pool is full of germ killing chemicals.

Having just made my peace with the phlegm, I made my way into the spa, where I was in for another special public pool treat! Ooooh the spa! Never a dull moment to be had! No matter how hard you try...

Today's special spa treat was a man. A man who would have been completely inconspicuous if it wasn't for that cheeky smile. I got in and hoped for the best. After a couple of minutes he stood up, only to reveal that his board shorts were hanging dangerously low. I averted my eyes. He turned around. Not only were the shorts half way down his ass, but, there was a giant rip in the back so his entire right butt cheek was on display. This is when I started to pray: "dear god I really do not want to see this man's testicles."

I reminded myself that this is a public pool and he is just as much a member of the public as I am, and got back to ignoring him. But the entire time I'm in the spa he seemed to be trying to catch my eye, and then when he thought he'd got it, he'd stand up and get out of the spa for a minute, then come back in. This was additionally annoying because he was sitting on the best jet and I really wasn't interested in finding out how he'd react if I grabbed it on one of his short ventures out.

I don't know what it is about the spa that inspires weird behaviour in people. From flashing too much of your junk, to pashing your bf/gf, to blatently wearing your underwear... People are just strange!