Oh. Valentine’s day happened? I guess one of my favorite things about being a depressed, pathetic single person is the freedom to make your own holidays and never buy gifts for anyone but yourself. This should explain why I spent my Valentines listening to Bootylicious in my kitchen while downing a personal bottle of pink champagne and devouring a large hunk of brie…and ice cream (if you were wondering yes I am still lactose intolerant.) To add self-inflicted insult to self-inflicted injury, last year I decreed that February 14th would be forever celebrated as my cats’ birthday, in case I ever decide to be in a relationship and need to be reminded that–SIKE–I am doomed to be a spinster .
At one point I ran out of crackers and literally took hunks of brie and used them to scoop boysenberry preserves out of the jar like they were fucking chips and salsa. I can do whatever I want! I’m single!
In addition to letting my cats lick the crumbs from my disgusting display of gluttony I also got up extra early that morning (noon) and made them a heart shaped tuna cake that the three of us ate in my bed.
At least one good thing about February 14th is it means the month is half over. The snow from the recent blizzard has almost completely melted which I appreciate even if it has allowed the rat corpse on my back patio to finally decompose and populate the house with a swarm of impressively massive flies and I mean seriously, Bushwick, come ON. I was just glad to feel the warmth of the sun for the first time since I returned from Maui.
Oh yeeeeah MAUI. I’d sunken so far into my mattress after my return I’d almost forgotten we were ever there.
Talk about a makeshift holiday. The story on Maui is, one miserable icy evening my similarly afflicted (single, drunk) older brother called me and asked me if I wanted to accompany him to the island for his 30-ish-ith birthday. So I said “doy,” made contingency plans for my dumb job, and 4 days later I was on a plane.
I cannot stress how much I needed this quick island “sampling,” as Nate called it. I had managed to get so over-caffeinated and anxious in the days before I departed that I was acting like Gimme from United States of Tara while doing something as simple as shopping for beach supplies. Sometimes I get so wigged out and isolated in my routine that I forget there is a world outside the individual postal districts of my house and workplace. As much as I love New York and as much as I always wanted to live here, there is really no better feeling than leaving my house at sunrise to catch the train to JFK. Even if I am just going to spend all my money at the airport Chili’s and cram myself into a coach seat for 12 hours while trying to ignore the terrible in-flight movie about a guy who dies in a surfing accident.
^Being fancy in row 300.
The original plan was to meet Nate at SFO and fly to Kahului but due to a ferry delay back in Martha’s Vineyard, he ended up having to spend a night in LA. This meant that when I arrived in Maui at 10 pm that Thursday, I took my the $80 cab ride back to our RIDICULOUS Fairmont resort alone where I spent my first night ordering room service and sending naked snapchats. Our room was upgraded to an ocean view, so the next morning I woke up to watch the sunrise over the water.
It’s whale season in Maui so while I was eating eggs benedict and tanning my crotch on the lanai I could see them breach above the surface of the water. Essentially the exact opposite of a typical morning for me, unless you count guzzling cups of coffee in my windowsill and talking to the feral cats in my backyard a similar experience.
Let’s not talk about it.
When my brother finally did arrive it was about 2 in the afternoon and I had been waiting ALL DAY for a cocktail. So we spent the hours before sunset “sipping” island beverages poolside and scamming on all the sexy guys who had brought their disparately unattractive wives to the resort.
“When I die,” Nate said swallowing his third Mai Tai, “I’m coming back as an ugly white woman.”
We swam in the ocean at sunset, disregarding it as prime shark feeding time.
That night we ate our weight in fresh caught fish at the infamous Mama’s Fish House (which we affectionately referred to as Mama’s Fish Hole). We continued getting drunk and rapping ad nauseam on our history of shit relationships before crashing against our will. Maui is five hours behind east coast time, so my late night nudes met their recipients just in time to start the New York work day before I poured myself into bed.
Nate wasn’t kidding about staying busy on this trip. There wasn’t a moment that we weren’t swimming or diving or hiking or power sipping our cocktails, beginning at dawn every morning. The next day we ventured to Black Rock and Hololua bay to snorkel with sea turtles and hear the whales chit chatting under water.
“I don’t give a damn about anybody’s coconuts…unless they’re my coconuts. Saddi!”
Idk why I look bummed. Probably all the exercise.
Later we drove out to our drive to West Maui, a gorgeous labyrinth of one lane roads that weave through the mountains. This shit was seriously off the map. No cell service and miles away from actual civilization. The closest things to commerce on this part of the island are the fruit stands and the meth dealers. Our destination was something called 13 Crossings, which is a somewhat treacherous makeshift trail across Makamakaole stream leading to a waterfall. Unfortunately we got started so late that the sun started dropping before we made it to the end, and we barely made it out before dark. This was not a place you wanted to get stuck in the middle of the night. I mean, it’s a damn rainforest. Luckily there are no poisonous snakes in Maui, but they do have wild boars. I almost cracked my moneymaker on a rock like three times. Do they even have plastic surgeons on this island? I wasn’t about to chance it.
^^no pants allowed on the hike.
That night we took a disco nap before getting up at 5 am to drive the 10,000 feet up Haleakala, a massive volcano on East Maui. This took forever, but the 15 year difference between us gave us plenty of catching up to do. Coming out stories, psycho boyfriend stories, the works. It was essentially a therapy session, and one I desperately needed. I was still digesting this piece of wisdom as we approached the summit:
“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time” (that’s ya girl Maya Angelou)
Damn. Was it time to make a change in my life?
When we finally got to the top of that volcano the sight was so breathtaking it was impossible to feel like the center of the universe. That kind of perspective is freeing and necessary, and something I don’t get often.
^Rare photo of me tired and happy. Here’s why:
We spent the rest of the day by the pool while crowds of rowdy straight men gathered around the tiki bar to scream about something called a “superbowl.” Taking in one last sunset over the ocean, we spotted two distant whale tales, a mom and a baby, flipping out of the water in succession.
We made time for a quick sushi dinner before catching our flight home. Nate departed in first class of course, and I crammed myself into the corner of three coach flights. I didn’t get home until 10 the next night and immediately slept for 12 hours.
When I awoke for work the next day, Maui felt like little more than a dream. My dreary routine was back in full swing and lo and behold I was alone again.
But at least now I have a tan.