Hawai'i #3

Feb 29, 2008 If They Can Put One Man On The Moon….

. ..why not all of them?

Cynthia Heimel once wrote that there are two stages in a woman's life: prey and invisible. Being a middle-aged woman living in a college town, I've become quite comfortable being invisible. But somehow, when I go travelling I become prey again. Just like old times. Frankly, I don't much care for it.

We got up early yesterday morning for our snorkling trip and before we even got on the boat, due to our openness and friendliness, managed to get some dumb-as-a-jar-of-mayonnaise contractor from Seattle attached to us. Really, I have dresses with higher IQs. But, realizing that not all of god's creatures are blessed with our innate intelligence and since I have long known that it is part of god's plan for me to spend a little time with each of the most stupid people on earth, we were friendly and pleasant to him. Until he too proved himself to be a total tool. Once we were underway, he told me that he wanted "a nice picture" of me. Uh oh...when I asked him what he meant, he said, "Oh, you know.." and made a gesture of lifting his shirt. I fixed him with my death-ray glare, set mercifully on STUN, that I inherited from Nadine which is apparently effective even with sunglasses on. "What's the matter?", he responded. "You should be flattered." Interestingly enough, these were the exact words used by my friend Richard after I was grabbed in the crotch at the Phil Lesh concert in SF. Perhaps it's a standard phrase taught in Fucking Sexist Pig Asshole 101. Though I have yet to comprehend why being viewed as a likely candidate for exploitation should be flattering. Ding-Ding-Ding...thanks for playing. We have some lovely parting gifts for you, fuck you very much.

But the rest of the trip was wonderful; we sailed to Boomshakalakalaka Bay (Kealakekua Bay) where the Captain Cook Monument is located, and anchored to snorkel & swim in crystal waters. I got in the water for a bit, but I'm used to the Caribbean, where it's warm & fluffy and the water here was too chilly for me. I love the ocean, love to see and smell and hear it, but I don't necessarily have to get it on me to enjoy it. So I mostly hung out on the soothingly rocking boat, sunbathed, drank beer, sneaked cigarettes & chatted with a sweet & funny young man named Adam who reminded me of my old friend Mike Hammer in looks and wit and mannerisms. The scenery was spectacular, including the entire boat crew; we'd been tipped off by the girl at the front desk who recommended that particular excursion for that very reason.

After the boat adventure, while Megan nursed her rather serious sunburn, I went out looking for trouble in the guise of Dennis, the deliciously dirty beachbum we'd made the aquaintance of the day before. Hung out with him for a bit on the seawall in town; seems that the night before we'd missed finding him because of some confusion about where exactly we were supposed to meet. Megan & I took a right on the path where we were supposed to veer left & climbed the wrong hill.

And let's just talk about Dennis for a bit; interesting individual, very, very intense, but very unnerving as well. From our first conversation, he instilled what psychologists call aversion/compulsion in my head. Other places as well, I reckon. At least half of what he says is full of shit - probably more - but some of it showed rare insight. Enormous blue eyes that looked directly into the deepest fibers of my being, it sometimes seemed. Very intuitive, maybe a bit psychic, but maybe just manipulative. Still, he didn't seem to want anything from me & that was a draw. He wasn't trying to fuck me, or get me to show my tits, or suck his dick, buy him a drink or wash his socks. Actually, he probably doesn't even own any socks. Or underwear. But he sure as shit likes to fuck with people and was very good at yanking my chain. Why that appealed to me is god's own private mystery.

Megan & I had already booked the luau for the evening & I asked him if he'd like to join us, but he declined & gave me his cellphone number & told me to call him after the luau & we'd all have some red wine together.

Aversion/compulsion....at first, I was impatient for the luau to end. But then I started having second thoughts. It wasn't that I didn't trust him - though any sane and prudent woman wouldn't have - it was more that I didn't trust myself around him. And by then the sun (I had gotten a little burned as well, though not as bad as Megan), the long day, the drinks had all gotten to me and I got very, veerry sleeepy. So I opted not to call, after all. And slept the sleep of the dead, a rare and blessed event for me.

The Dennis Saga continues tomorrow & I'm gonna try to upload some Hawaii pics. Maybe it'll even work; been having some connection issues. This wireless shit ain't all it's cracked up to be.