Random vignettes

Wow, I am not keeping up with this as I should be. So here are a bunch of small stories of recent events:

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A friend says to me, "As soon as I saw him, I thought of you."
I guess I complement someone with fantastically unique style ... and a dark soul. I'm not sure if she meant it as a compliment, but I took it as one!

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Very elderly couple in the elevator, "You're so young, are you 18? Here for college?"
I looked around at the empty elevator for someone else and then laughed in amazement at the very sincere question. Apparently, I need to go out in band T-shirts, flat hair and no makeup more often.

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More than a year ago, a friend told me she and her husband had questioned - only for a moment - if I did drugs, since one of my fingernails was so long. I was shocked. No, I don't; I just let my nails grow until they break. So one might be longer than the rest naturally. Recently, I actually measured one of these nails, as even I am impressed with its length. I give you the half-inch pinkie nail that I'm oddly proud of:

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Running to IHOP

It's been a week, but I can finally talk about it now. So I did the Great Aloha Run again, which is a traditional yearly torture of an advertised 8.15 miles, which turns out to be close to 10. I never sign up early because I always say I'm not going to do it next year, as just as the final deadline comes down the pipeline, I cave and sign up.

I've done it all three years here and the issues are always the same. You have to walk to catch a bus at least an hour before the race starts, wait forever to get on a bus because they never have the buses timed right, walk the entire width of downtown to stand and wait forever to begin. Then the dreaded curse of any race, the people who push to the front but can't run past or even up to a mile, causing traffic jams for all the runners behind them. Run, run, run. Burn your last dregs of energy because the end is in sight! Aloha Stadium straight ahead, but no! First you have to run halfway (seriously) around the stadium before crossing the finish line. Then walk back across the field, exit the stadium, loop back again to get the water and bananas, and then one final lap around the stadium to catch the bus back to Waikiki and walk home.

So far, each year, I've gotten one minute slower; 1:25, 1:26 and 1:27 this year. I blame this on age ... not a personal lack in training or initiative.

The real reason why I do the GAR every year is the huge breakfast I treat myself to afterwards. This year was no exception. I ran to IHOP and devoured a plate of crepes and bacon. This bacon was the bacon that bacon dreams about being. So delicious! It reached its full bacon potential, in fact other people were jealous of my bacon plate.

I then spent a few hours planted on the beach. So all in all, an annoying run in the morning rewards me with a T-shirt, a day of laziness and special treats ... maybe I should do it again next year.

The "S" hobbies

Most people come to Hawaii and to surf, snorkel and scuba; I have lived here for 2.5 years, and I don’t do any of those things. How cliché. So instead, I go ice-skating … for the first time.

I can hear the wheels churning. Question: How has a native Midwesterner not know how to ice skate? Answer: I learned to avoid ice. It is slippery and causes accidents.

So picture this:

Me, climbing out of my roof-challenged Jeep and pulling on knee-high wool socks, a sweater over my long-sleeve T-shirt, my pink-skull hat made especially for me by a friend, a scarf and gloves, while in the parking lot in Hawaii. 

Me, walking inside where I was instantly teleported to my old life across the ocean and country, as I could see my breath.

Me, strapping on these torture devices disguised as boots, which are harder to walk in than any pair of heels I’ve experienced, and venturing onto the ice.

Me, using to metal cane to maneuver around the rink, which is too short for an adult to use properly, while being outpaced by children who can’t even spell yet.

Me, eventually making it to the adult section, crutch free. Although I may have been one of the slowest skaters, I never fell once! There were many close calls, with me emitting – breathless yet somehow so high-pitched that only dogs can hear – shrieks of terror.

Me, ready to use my skates as weapons as patronizing comments were made like, “you’re catching on; good job; you’re doing it; you’re getting better.” These may sound encouraging to the innocent bystander, but when the person voicing these comments is skating just as “good” as myself, even though this was my first time and not the speaker’s, I tend to get a little snappish. Plus, “helpfully” pushing someone, who is trying to maintain balance, just so they move faster is never a welcome addition to the learning process.

Me, arguing with some other skater about wings of an airplane. This skater, who could actually skate fantastically well, was trying to give me pointers. One of which was to skate with my arms straight out to slides like an airplane, when I was tilting my arms to bank turns. “Have you ever seen a plane do that?” Umm, duh, yes. Has he ever been in a plane? Lets see, while circling the airport, one side of the plane goes higher. Then, we level out to go straight again. Apparently, I wasn’t supposed to apply real-world logic to these tips.

Me, feeling like I permanently injured my ankles after about an hour of having them fold out to both sides at 90-degree angles like a cardboard box, but still laughing all the way through.

Me, feeling like I can finally look my 5-year-old nephew, who already plays ice hockey, in the eyes with dignity and respect as equals. 

P.S. Don’t ever touch my hat without my permission while I’m wearing it.

The case of the missing accent

Four times within the last week, I have been asked where my accent is when people find out I am from Wisconsin originally.

I wasn't aware it was missing.

Should I call Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys? Or maybe Sherlock Holmes? Why, I do believe it was the butler in the conservatory with the candlestick.

Seriously people, "Fargo" and "New in Town" don't represent the entire midwest. Just Minnesota and the Dakotas.

Oh fer cryin out loud, would ya look at the time. Ya betcha I got better tings ta do den be typin ya know. Eh.

Living the good life

You may call this a trip of a lifetime; I call it a Tuesday with a friend at Rum Fire pau hana (after work) hour in Waikiki:

Street connections

Another German-accented person from Wisconsin in the elevator this evening! He moved from Germany to Madison in 1980, and yes, upon entering the elevator he did not push a button for his floor. *See a previous post. I was going to tell him, but he just kept talking.

Ok, that is not the reason why I love Waikiki. I love it because I run into friends all the time on the streets and sidewalks. I can't count the number of times I have turned a corner and bumped into a friend, or seen one walking/running, or had my name called out while passing a friend. You almost start to expect it to happen at least once a week.

Saturday, I hear a friend scream my name from a car. We were both stopped at a light, got a quick chat in and then raced a bit down Kalakaua, which ended in a friendly wave as I turned off. Just the week prior I randomly ran into these friends while walking down on a dark street on a weeknight. No it wasn't a drug deal. But I think a few passerbys might have thought I was on something as I charged across the street - wearing my turquoise and brown cowboy boots - to grab some quick hugs, high-fives and laughs.

Today, while waiting ever so patiently at a red light, a car blares on the horn beside me. I turn around (not many cars honk horns here in Hawaii, so when you hear one; you look). It's another pair of friends. It was the best light to get trapped at, as it's horrendously long, so we had enough time to catch up and make plans for the coming days. 

There's nothing quite like getting an unexpected hug, wave or smile on a street corner from a friend you weren't expecting to see. It just makes the whole day better.

Waikiki may be a heavily-populated section of land with a constant flow of tourists, but it still feels like a small-town community sometimes. A family of like-minded people. You start recognize all the friendly bartenders and servers waiting at the bus stops or see old dates while getting movies (and avert your face). I've often been accused of stalking friends who come in from other parts of the island just because they always see me out walking (not street walking just walking) or in restaurants.

So while the rest of the island may shun us Waikiki-dwellers, at least until they want to be entertained, I couldn't imagine having this much fun or a sense of neighborhood anywhere else on this chunk of land.

Pro Bowling it up

I got pulled into the Pro Bowl bandwagon this year, and I have to say ... it was awesome. I have the sunburn, sore feet and photos to prove it.

Saturday stared off meeting a bus of military families at Fort Shafter at 7:45 a.m., before heading out to Ohana Day. Even though I got to sleep in a half an hour, I was seriously questioning why I was torturing myself by giving up a day of sleeping in when the story was going to be covered by someone else. But I'm so glad I did. The morning started off with almost being trampled by the mascots in the tunnel, until I caught the eagle eye of Swoop, the Philadelphia Eagles mascot. I was a bit thrown have - as this was my first time being hit on by a grown man in an animal costume, even Halloween costumes - so I just sort of plastered myself against the wall and laughed nervously. I doubt anyone would have done any differently as an eagle starts petting its own feathers while talking to you.

After that, the day progressed normally. At least as normal as it can be with a bunch of pro football players around. I was properly professional, until the NFC players can out. Then I might have started smiling like a loon and hyperventilating as I snapped photos of Aaron Rogers, Clay Matthews, Greg Jennings, Charles Woodson, Scott Wells and BJ Raji; all Packers players of course.

Later that evening, Waikiki shut down one of three main roads for a block party, which is cool if you're already in Waikiki but horrendous if you're trying to get in. I went basically because I like walking in the street. It really is the simple things in life. Plus, I got to wear Packers clothes, which doesn't happen much since I left Wisconsin. Other states are not as accepting,  and no one would ever thing of wearing team apparel to church.

Today was game day. Lets fast-forward over traffic and parking woes that never seem to dissipate here in Hawaii and get to the point where I get a shinny media badge with my name and photo on it, walk through the tunnel and out onto the field. Throughout the pre-show and game, I keep expecting someone to toss me off the field. Like "hey, your camera sucks! You shouldn't even be out here." But it never happened! I just got to walk all around, at least behind the yellow line, taking photos of football players without being threatened with a lawsuit or shovel. I even chatted with a couple security guards, one who left Bulgaria as a political refugee in the 80s. His mom is doing poorly so now he regrets moving to Hawaii from Florida nine years ago. Yes. I know his whole life story.

After more than 6 hours of standing in the sunshine, I have some sunburn, sore feet and great photos.

Top three coolest experiences "working:"
1. interviewing Skillet backstage and photos onstage during the concert;

2. photographing Packers playing on the field during the Pro Bowl; and

3. interviewing Nigel Barker.

Elevator woes

Living in a condo-hotel is entertaining and exasperating.

I’ve often wear earbuds and sunglasses when I’m in the elevator or lobby, otherwise I’ll be accosted with questions from the steady rotation of tourists. They spot me like an oasis in the desert — since I’m usually carrying groceries, laundry or mail — as their own personal tour guide.

No questions are off limits: How much is rent? What do you do? Where should I go? How many apartments are in this building? Are you married? Why do you live here? Where are you from originally?

I apparently look nice. I’m not. This is the city, and although it’s a tourist destination, you should be employing a few brain cells while here.

1. I can’t tell you how many people (grown adults) get in an elevator and don’t push a button for their floor. They usually realize a few floors past when they should have exited, but then have to ride with me to the 29^th floor. No, I’m not nice and point this out before they notice. It happens way too often. If you reached adult-status and don’t know to check for your floor when getting into an elevator ... I don’t even have anything to add to that. Basically, how have you survived this long? On the flip side, a good chunk of people get in the elevator, hover over the indicator panel for an extended length of time, then push a button that is already illuminated. This always makes me think of the opening scene of “Speed.”

2. No, I’m not going to hold the elevator for you when we stop by your floor and the rest of your party is still in your room. Elevators are hot commodities; there are only three for 31 floors. I’m going to stand there, looking at you while making no movement for the “open door” button until the door closes, unless of course, you’re physically challenged and need more time getting in. That’s just common courtesy.

3. At this point, you may think that I’m the one lacking in manners because I’m not making an extra effort. This is not the case; I employ general social and shared-space etiquette: holding doors, allowing others to exit/enter first and moving to allow extra space. I guess most people feel that while they are on vacation, these rules don’t apply to them.

For example, while waiting in the lobby for an elevator, most tourists will walk through the door, past the line of people who’ve been waiting much longer and enter an arriving elevator. Or they will try to enter the elevator while others are getting off. I’m not talking about that initial first reaction and step when an elevator arrives. I’m talking about pushing through a line of exiting people to enter the car. Or when everyone is exiting on the same floor, they shove past people in the front of the car to exit first to most likely stop and block traffic at some later point along the egress path. One of my “favorites” is when I’m carrying a bunch of items and am trying to get my key out to enter the building, while they stand on the other side, not carrying anything and not opening the door. The door doesn’t require a key to exit, so they are just standing there waiting for me to open the door for them, while I’m juggling several bags. You can bet at this point, that they’ll walk through the door first when I do get it open and will not hold it for me or after me.

I do actually talk and joke with some of these visitors. Yesterday, I started chatting with an older couple. They had just arrived and asked about the weather. I said it had been raining a lot, and they laughed, saying they had just come from cold and snow. I replied that’s why I live here; I’ve already lived in that. They of course ask where. “Wisc…(realizing they speak with a German accent and have no idea where that is) … the middle of the country, by Chicago.” The woman replies, “Wisconsin? That’s where we’re from.” Why of course, why wouldn’t a random couple in an elevator, with heavy German accents be from my home state?

These boots were made for dancing

Just completed my fourth formal ballroom dancing lesson — keep laughing as I waltz, foxtrot, lindy hop, swing and salsa circles around you — where I received a report card of sorts.

Apparently my problem area is letting the man lead. (crickets, crickets)

Let me explain. I know the man is supposed to lead, but my dance instructor is very sweet and petite, not one who manhandles very well. While this should be a nice trait in a person, it doesn't really work in dance. If he's not going to force me to go somewhere, I'm going to go where I want. (Comments can be kept to yourself on this issue.)

1. So the woman is supposed to hold on by the man's right bicep. Except, I have more muscle than he does. He even makes jokes about it, "I'll flex very hard so you can feel my bicep." But I can't! So I just make an educated guess, thanks to years of figure drawing. Therefore, I'm not going to hold on very tight because I might bruise him, which leads to not waiting for his direction.

2. I have a "farm girl stride," so referred to by Texas friends. As in I use the whole expanse of my legs and hip flexors to make a full stride, thus covering a lot of ground in an efficient manner. This doesn't work so well when your partner is making dainty, precise movements. I'm often stepping back out of his reach, so obviously, I take it upon myself to move back into range instead of waiting for him to catch up. "I usually have to tell women to take bigger steps."

3. He makes me practice the same steps for like 15 minutes. Dude, I got it 10 minutes ago. "You do so well at talking and dancing at the same time."Thanks. I have some experience in being able to dance, sing, escape the creep behind me, avoid a flick of hair in the eye from that girl intruding on my circle, dodge the puddle/glass on the floor and keep my drink from spilling all at the same time, so talking to you while we do the box step a hundred times in a row is not really a stressful mental exercise.

These are my very sound reasons for sort of leading; I'm really only offering suggestions. This isn't an excuse, but I just need to be ready for when Gene Kelly reincarnates.  

The first brick in the road

Well I did it. I finally caved. I started my own blog. This may seem obvious since you're reading it but bear with me.

Why "sand in my boots" you may ask?

•More than five years of working for the military where "Boots in the Sand" is a common phrase.
•I love boots and have quite an extensive collection, which I often wear at inappropriate times.
•I recently lived in the desert and now I basically live on the beach, both places where sand is found.
•It's a good visual.
•If you're going to question everything I write, this is going to be a long and arduous relationship.

Basically, I always have these weird, funny and bizarre things happen around me, and I enjoy telling stories. So sit down, shut up and prepare to laugh.

If you're already offended, the forecast doesn't look too bright for you finding amusement in my thoughts, so feel free peruse some other page.