Tales from the crypt, per se.
Better Than Sex -
Now there is a hard sentence to type. Well, almost sentence, I guess. Possibly the most fun you can have not involving sex, may put it better. Surfing, of course! One track mind here. Only reason I feel this can be said as follows - There is no one to please but yourself, self centered, yes, but naturally orgasmic at the same time.
It runs like this. Early morning, tip-toe outta the house. Stalking the 'net to find the proper tide, spot, and swell - I should have a somewhat sane idea of where it will be firing. Time limitations aside, the island will give up something. No begging here. No bargains, no guilt, no unsatisfied customers. Once primed, the action will unfold, naturally, no artificial additives needed. The ocean has moods, but in general, she is a very forgiving lover. She is always wet for one. Pre-surf rituals are common, from blessing ones self with the water of the ocean, to yoga, meditation, stretching. Entering the sea, the water just seems to be so refreshing, so soft, so all encompassing. But lovers need attention. So post-surf, you pack some opala (trash) and thank whoever, whatever being that you seek enlightenment from - thanks for the waves, the sun, keeping me safe.
But the waves are the star of this type of mating. It is making love. You can try to force your will on her, but she will win in the end. Sooner or later, she will outlast you. You will try all the smooth moves you box of tricks has, but she has seen them all. All she has to offer, she will keep that nugget, that perfect wave, for herself. You stroke into a wave, you glide into it. You thrust, dance, carve. You float delicately. You thrash. Peeking into her soul, if you are lucky, you get to see the world from her POV, wet, wonderous, sublime in its creation.
Sooner or later, 'tho you will pull out.
And she will leave you exhausted, reborn, withered. If it is cold enough, or you have been out in the water long enough, you will find your ala's (balls) trying to find their way into to your arse to stay warm, too.
She does not do cuddling, either. Act up, young fool, old wise ass, she will remind you who runs the show.
I keep coming back for more.
Die 4 You -
It seems a bit passe, perhaps, with 9/11, and firefighter deaths in the news more prominent now a days, to say it.
You better, 'tho. Because it is reality, in my day to day exsistence. We work with various crews in our careers, after awhile, 'tho you stop moving stations, and home becomes 1 stop. I have been fortunate to work with guys (and wahines, (women) too) who I would not hesitate to sacrifice for. Seems a bit heavy, no? In reality, it is not. You live with each other for so much of the time, that you know more about them then of your ohana (own family). What they are going thru, (divorce, bills, kids, emotions, side salad(expression used when someone fools around on SO), what have you) We eat each others cooking, some great, some...less great. We see some really depressing shit. We see some amazing, amazing shit. Lots of funny shit. So we tend to watch each others back quite a bit. It is love, but you wont hear that from me. Or anyone else. You pass time, pass out from parties to celebrate births, deaths, graduations, promotions. Bonding.
Everyday 'tho, in that little macadamia nut inside my brain, I have to admit I might not come home. Facing that everyday on the way to work, makes me think way toooooo much.
With the support of my brothers & sister firefighters, I deal, I deal.
And it is all good.
Captain Melonhead -
Hoo boy. Where to begin. Captain M is old skool. So old, perhaps, that the horses that used to draw the fire trucks, miss him. Granted, I respect the position, but sometimes get irked with the man. Worst is, he is related to Lady C.
First off he cant hear. His hearing aid at times, goes off in reverb. So you can be sitting down, and all thru the firehouse, you hear a high pitched whiiiiiiiiiiine. He never realizes it. Never.
Second off his truck is sloooooow. Hardly any alarms. So he moves - - sloooow. The truck stationed w/ him, 'tho is mega-arse busy. Common courtesy would be to grab alarms for the other, but Captain M, he doesnt. Even if we are on the same street as the alarm is. That shit is just wrong.
Thirdly, he is basically unintelligable. With the hearing loss, the aide that doesnt work, speech comes out like - "Marumoph, - Canr redbia doccus?" Really, I havent kept up with my latin, so I usually shrug, alot.
Lastly, his memeory of past exploits, be it sports, women or fires, has grown. Many times the size of his ego, and then some.
Respect the position, irked with the man.
Casual Fridays -
I really have no concept of this. Altho' I will give a perspective on 24/7 casual friday. In alohaland, there is no concept of casual. It is always casual. Even big business, try as they might to be button down proper, cant do it. You gotta bust out the slippers. Bare feet, shorts, tank tops, rule. You wont see a sign - no shirt no shoes no service, The business' would all be broke.
It does drive malahinins (newcomers) nuts. We all tend to drive, well, relaxed. All the roads were designed, well, relaxed. When on the road, you dont need to use your turn signals, cause - we are an island, we know everybody, and everybody already knows where we are going. The Left lane on the freeway is for - driving slow, or medium fast, or for cruising. No passing here. When it rains, you better leave early, cause everyone forgets how to drive. The median speed drops down to 25 MPH. Why? I have no clue, but for the past 30 years of driving, everytime, it does.
Class cant be seperated by what you wear, cause you all dress the same - casual. It makes ogling women, easy. Vice versa for women on guys, too. So the line comes as to where you reside. Honolulu has a median price range for houses about 500K. For a "as is". The homes in the area I reside have risen from 300K to as of today, 900K. Can you say shaft? Shaft as in property taxes? I will be getting reemed, thank you very much.
Cool Shit -
Shave Ice. The stars the way they look from bamboo ridge, when while arguing with C, make the world so friggin' small. Arguing is not my strong point. So I tend to be raging idiot, demented psychopath, or small combo, macaroni salad on the side.
So I relegate myself to self-imposed exile to the desolated area known as bamboo ridge, named for the poles the fishermen use there. Quiet, deep black, million stars visible. Moon rise, a beer, time to chill, usually works.
Times it dont, 'tho. Aye yah.
So dealing with C and moods can be a, hmmmm, experience? It hurts to want to help someone so bad to feel better, but feel like no matter what you do, you are wrong.
Trying to cool her down, when all I do is wrong, is a challenge. Kinda like you lose, you win, you still lose. Keep on trying 'tho.
I guess PMS wasnt so bad, after all.
One more tale, soon.
Aloha.
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