Roaches, Pedis, and Cults

None of my friends from high school are back on the aina this week for spring break. But here is the reason why it’s worth flying through 6 time zones, on 3 separate planes, with 1 major jet-lag, to get home for spring break: the fam.

You doubt me? Fine, I’ll admit that not everyone has pads* like mine. Did you’re mom come running into the kitchen this morning to kill a three-inch cockroach with a paper towel and her bare palm? Probs not. But here are some ways to make a family-filled weekend an ass-kickin’ fiesta.

My sis and I kicked off our first day back by kicking off our slippas** and getting pedis with the maj. I had no idea pedis involve back messaging chairs. Now I have a jewel on my toe for the first time and I can’t stop staring. (Shout out to Quan my boy, a midkid who’s mom owns the nail salon. Quan, you rock).

Last night we went to a do-it-yourself wine bottling place, Oeno Winemaking, where I learned how to fill, cork, seal, and label pinot noirs. Greg, the owner, let us taste his specialty chocolate-flavored ports before we left for dinner. These would taste great with cheesecake, especially on a 21^st birthday that happens to be coming up…

This morning sis went off gallivanting with her Williams home girls so I had the pads to myself, and we went on a beautiful hike up Olamana ridge. Naturally, none of us brought a camera. But at the top a nice middle-aged guy took a picture of us with his iphone and emailed it to me right there. (Who’s the millennial now, huh? (Why am I so tech-deficient?)). This picture doesn’t capture the amazing 360º view of the jagged Ko’olau range and sparkly blue ocean.

Along the trail I found out that my town has its own cult. Funny, since I just watched the Veronica Mars cult episode. (Don’t you love that feeling, when your reality starts mimicking the surreality??) Ours is a surf cult. (Mmm hmm. Only in Hawaii). All I know is there’s a “queen” who sits out on the red zodiac while her “servants” surf. She wears a long sleeve rashguard, hat and gloves – no one can see her skin. And they all live in a few houses on a compound in Lanikai where all the windows are boarded up.

And on that note of beachy mysteries, where did that old boat in front of our beach path wash up from? And why did it say “Kapu” on the side above a skull and bones? Dun Dun Dun…

*Short for padres.

**Never say flip-flops in Hawaii if you don’t like beef from a 375 pound moke***

*** A moke is a huge Polynesian guy who talks pigeon (“eh braddah, try move outta da way. Or I go make stinkface atcha auntie”).

**** translates to forbidden/sacred in Hawaiian