Aloha!
30.7.09
19.7.09
The Cali Crew
It is pretty damn quiet around the house.
Kaleo in Kalifornia
Everybody arrived behaved on the plane (!!!!!) watched movies, I assumed didnt kick any seats, and Kalifornia so far has not fallen into the Pacific.
Good luck Arnold!
Kaleo in KaliforniaEverybody arrived behaved on the plane (!!!!!) watched movies, I assumed didnt kick any seats, and Kalifornia so far has not fallen into the Pacific.
Good luck Arnold!
18.7.09
Surf Auction
Surf Auction yesterday - Mai, Kaleo, Kekoa, Michelle, Sandy and Kiana all go to Disneyland today.
We still live in Dizzyland; as Lady C says.
Aloha.
We still live in Dizzyland; as Lady C says.
Aloha.
14.7.09
M/M LK & Crew & Chinatown Walk-a-bout
Met up with he infamous Mr. & Mrs. LK in Honolulu for beers and cheers and festivus. Went over to YardHouse and quaffed a beer or two while getting kicked under the table by my better half.
You guys are realllllllllly fine folks. Hope you had fun, I know we did!
Pre-beer fest -
Good Kine Peoples
Yesterday, went and holoholo'd to Chinatown with the boys and Maile.
Lots of fun conversation w/ Kaleo and Kekoa, Maile kept running over my foot with the stroller to let me know she was bored.
Spent today taking apart the Dryer; putting it back together, and relishing the act that it now works.
Aloha!
You guys are realllllllllly fine folks. Hope you had fun, I know we did!
Pre-beer fest -
Good Kine PeoplesYesterday, went and holoholo'd to Chinatown with the boys and Maile.
Lots of fun conversation w/ Kaleo and Kekoa, Maile kept running over my foot with the stroller to let me know she was bored.
Spent today taking apart the Dryer; putting it back together, and relishing the act that it now works.
Aloha!
7.7.09
Not a Right
And a Goof.5.7.09
What you build, you will become
It started out as a long night the day before; with the usual new-clee-ar action on the home front. You know, those days/nights where you really ask yourself if the whole ball of wax that you have saved for years, that huge rubber-band collection of frayed nerves and left-over soap chips, compiled together in an ever growing dust bunny of confusion. I believe it is called life. I was up all-night. Probably had a beer; or 6. Or 8. Whatever it was it didn’t matter, since I would be attending the mass called work. If it is recalled correctly I sat in the dark of the early morning, bemoaning the depressing thoughts of the day’s actions/reactions to detonations occurring earlier in the sunlight.
Leaving before dawn, grasping the Styrofoam cup of Joe that would awaken what little remaining cells of function remained.
I remember, as always, checking the surf in the night moon light on the way to the station.
My alcohol level was not flammable, but without a cleansing shower, I probably was reeking through my glands. So I crept into the station, headed upstairs to the dorms, and gladly got naked and showered in some ice cold watery goodness. It was 545AM, after a 15 minute rejuvenation of some sort.
It is funny, reliving the tracks of water left on the tile floors in my head. It is equally amazing to my feeble/aged mind that I can hear the wind coming through the 3rd story windows that day. The white washed, Clorox scented walls of the dorm bath; the equally disarming sound of early morning Mynah birds chirping their irritating asses off. Maybe I would have slipped and fell if I had been more or less sober. But I remained standing.
God more coffee, please. Everyone (except the station ghosts) still hibernating. Had to creep into the dorm, grab my uniform, and stealthily creep my ass out. Mission accomplished. I like to brew coffee at the station. Nothing better than getting 12 to 20 cups of legal high going in a huge coffee maker. You are, after all, making for a party of 10 or more, just like station cooking, you better have some pride, and not just shove the shit in there, but measure, clean, rinse, and portion the grounds/water with some class.
Petrol for the troops, you know.
Brew, pot, brew. Noting the extreme amount of stress cells that were running amuck in my brain, I figured that the best thing to relieve generalized stupidity is…. The newspaper. Somebody out there in the world has got to be more fucked than I. Great. Seems like the world has decided that all the other clowns/fools/deviants are to be granted immediate reprieve of sorts. Thanks.
My crew isn’t even near awakening to even COME to work, and here I am sitting at the station, feeling sorry for myself and drinking life sustaining coffee to get thru the next 5 minutes of doubt and frustration.
Not even thinking about alarms.
Oh yeah, alarms. You know the loud sounds that come over the squawk box, that shatter the silence that comes over the usually raucous sounds of station life, after dark. Death, fire, birth, disasters don’t care for clocks, do they? No they do not. They don’t give a fuck about you, your schedule, and your problems, you at all. Why? They pay your salary.
The watch that is working/sleeping now, is not my crew, but the off going watch. Watches/crews can be a differing as the gains of sand. The crews on now, while talented, and dedicated, were a tad more ‘anal’ than most.
“Tines DOWN when the forks are put in the dish rack; why is the truck parked .5 inches away from where it should be?; the dish soap was diluted too little, etcetera”
Not bad; just different than my own.
Diffused fluorescent light, due to incoming rising sun light, refracting into unwelcome lasers into my caffeinated head.
Fucking Mynah birds.
“Engine 5; imminent child birth, 1940 Paula Drive; Co-response, imminent child birth, Engine 5, at 1940 Paula Drive, cross streets Koko Drive, and Paula Place, at zero- five-fifty-nine”
Great. Somebody has to decide to be expelled from the womb NOW. Thanks. What the hell.
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Out to the apparatus floor. Out to the locker. Crew on duty sliding down the poles from the dorms, from the sleep, from the respite of death, sickness, and heat.
“Hey, Mark! What the fuck, man? Whatchewdoing here so fucking early man?”
“ Fuck you right back you fat fuck, get outta here, I’ll go, I am here already, call it a early out, my man”
“Oh sure, then you want 3 pay backs for 1 ya shit”
“Go wash the shit out your eyes, doofus”
“Shoots, man, thanks”
“ No worries, bro, have a good one”
“Stay safe, Mark-O, stay safe”
“You know that my brother”
And with that, we are on the road and out the door.
Gearing down, up the ridge, up the hill. Gathering my thoughts on what faced ahead. Child birth. Soon. Maybe. Many times, if not more often than not, it ends up being a close call, just a over reaction to labor pains, a anxious father/mother/lover/in law, whatevers, getting all in a twitter, and jumping the birthing gun.
Probably another.
I guess my mind changed gears when the little boy standing in the door way said as I entered his home said “ My Mom is being bornded” . . .
OK.
Gear switch.
Slam shift into brain lock, drive that gearing into compound, grab your balls, hitch the cerebellum, and cram that selfish as sorry to be me, attitude and try to drown out the screaming female voice coming from the living room. Or there about.
But first; by pass the dumbfounded look of (assumed) father standing in the entry way to the living room, where his wife (assumed) lay back down, legs spread, night gown hitched, basketball stomached, on the floor.
Just ignore the fluid of some sort, on the floor, don’t slip, cause that’d be great, falling ass over heels into a birthing Mother, now wouldn’t it?
Kneeling, sliding, tossing the trauma bag. Grabbing without looking into the bag; right to the birthing kit, grabbing at the same time, the smock, the squee-gee, the forceps, clamps and sack for the plecenta. Blanket. Oxygen.
“Cap,(short for Captain) I got crowning”
Just let nature take its course, which is it. Just guide, clean, and get Dad to cut the umbilical. Easy. Really; just silence the sounds all around you, just concentrate on what your job is.
Human life.
What will this child be like?
Please bring joy to this world, man, please. Just for your own good, kid, it will make your existence so much more enjoyable for what really little time you will have here.
“Shoulders out, Cap”
“Baby is clear, Cap”
Greeeeeeeeeeeeahhhhhhh. Softly. Greeeeeeeeeeah. Louder.
“Boy, Cap, zero-six-fifteen”
Dad is frozen, small kid brother with the neighbor, Mynah birds just as irritating as earlier.
Placenta out.
Somebody took the child that just came to my catchers mit, some unseen hands, some body. I am busy. Placenta and all else that can be or is needed. Who knows? Just do what you are trained to do.
Help people. Help yourself.
Not tired.
Stabilize Mom. Comfort Dad. Assure new brother.
Clean up the scene.
Get your gear.
Back the Ambulance up, get our truck out.
Down the hill to the station, re-load the trauma kit, get cleaned up.
24 hours to go.
I am not tired, I am adrenilized more than I can handle.
My crew here now.
“Hey, Mark! We Aunties, or Uncles?!?”
Fuckers.
Who knows what or where that life will lead, who knows what takes us on paths we choose.
But paths and journeys they are, and always, somewhere….
Mynah birds will irritate.
Aloha.
Leaving before dawn, grasping the Styrofoam cup of Joe that would awaken what little remaining cells of function remained.
I remember, as always, checking the surf in the night moon light on the way to the station.
My alcohol level was not flammable, but without a cleansing shower, I probably was reeking through my glands. So I crept into the station, headed upstairs to the dorms, and gladly got naked and showered in some ice cold watery goodness. It was 545AM, after a 15 minute rejuvenation of some sort.
It is funny, reliving the tracks of water left on the tile floors in my head. It is equally amazing to my feeble/aged mind that I can hear the wind coming through the 3rd story windows that day. The white washed, Clorox scented walls of the dorm bath; the equally disarming sound of early morning Mynah birds chirping their irritating asses off. Maybe I would have slipped and fell if I had been more or less sober. But I remained standing.
God more coffee, please. Everyone (except the station ghosts) still hibernating. Had to creep into the dorm, grab my uniform, and stealthily creep my ass out. Mission accomplished. I like to brew coffee at the station. Nothing better than getting 12 to 20 cups of legal high going in a huge coffee maker. You are, after all, making for a party of 10 or more, just like station cooking, you better have some pride, and not just shove the shit in there, but measure, clean, rinse, and portion the grounds/water with some class.
Petrol for the troops, you know.
Brew, pot, brew. Noting the extreme amount of stress cells that were running amuck in my brain, I figured that the best thing to relieve generalized stupidity is…. The newspaper. Somebody out there in the world has got to be more fucked than I. Great. Seems like the world has decided that all the other clowns/fools/deviants are to be granted immediate reprieve of sorts. Thanks.
My crew isn’t even near awakening to even COME to work, and here I am sitting at the station, feeling sorry for myself and drinking life sustaining coffee to get thru the next 5 minutes of doubt and frustration.
Not even thinking about alarms.
Oh yeah, alarms. You know the loud sounds that come over the squawk box, that shatter the silence that comes over the usually raucous sounds of station life, after dark. Death, fire, birth, disasters don’t care for clocks, do they? No they do not. They don’t give a fuck about you, your schedule, and your problems, you at all. Why? They pay your salary.
The watch that is working/sleeping now, is not my crew, but the off going watch. Watches/crews can be a differing as the gains of sand. The crews on now, while talented, and dedicated, were a tad more ‘anal’ than most.
“Tines DOWN when the forks are put in the dish rack; why is the truck parked .5 inches away from where it should be?; the dish soap was diluted too little, etcetera”
Not bad; just different than my own.
Diffused fluorescent light, due to incoming rising sun light, refracting into unwelcome lasers into my caffeinated head.
Fucking Mynah birds.
“Engine 5; imminent child birth, 1940 Paula Drive; Co-response, imminent child birth, Engine 5, at 1940 Paula Drive, cross streets Koko Drive, and Paula Place, at zero- five-fifty-nine”
Great. Somebody has to decide to be expelled from the womb NOW. Thanks. What the hell.
Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Out to the apparatus floor. Out to the locker. Crew on duty sliding down the poles from the dorms, from the sleep, from the respite of death, sickness, and heat.
“Hey, Mark! What the fuck, man? Whatchewdoing here so fucking early man?”
“ Fuck you right back you fat fuck, get outta here, I’ll go, I am here already, call it a early out, my man”
“Oh sure, then you want 3 pay backs for 1 ya shit”
“Go wash the shit out your eyes, doofus”
“Shoots, man, thanks”
“ No worries, bro, have a good one”
“Stay safe, Mark-O, stay safe”
“You know that my brother”
And with that, we are on the road and out the door.
Gearing down, up the ridge, up the hill. Gathering my thoughts on what faced ahead. Child birth. Soon. Maybe. Many times, if not more often than not, it ends up being a close call, just a over reaction to labor pains, a anxious father/mother/lover/in law, whatevers, getting all in a twitter, and jumping the birthing gun.
Probably another.
I guess my mind changed gears when the little boy standing in the door way said as I entered his home said “ My Mom is being bornded” . . .
OK.
Gear switch.
Slam shift into brain lock, drive that gearing into compound, grab your balls, hitch the cerebellum, and cram that selfish as sorry to be me, attitude and try to drown out the screaming female voice coming from the living room. Or there about.
But first; by pass the dumbfounded look of (assumed) father standing in the entry way to the living room, where his wife (assumed) lay back down, legs spread, night gown hitched, basketball stomached, on the floor.
Just ignore the fluid of some sort, on the floor, don’t slip, cause that’d be great, falling ass over heels into a birthing Mother, now wouldn’t it?
Kneeling, sliding, tossing the trauma bag. Grabbing without looking into the bag; right to the birthing kit, grabbing at the same time, the smock, the squee-gee, the forceps, clamps and sack for the plecenta. Blanket. Oxygen.
“Cap,(short for Captain) I got crowning”
Just let nature take its course, which is it. Just guide, clean, and get Dad to cut the umbilical. Easy. Really; just silence the sounds all around you, just concentrate on what your job is.
Human life.
What will this child be like?
Please bring joy to this world, man, please. Just for your own good, kid, it will make your existence so much more enjoyable for what really little time you will have here.
“Shoulders out, Cap”
“Baby is clear, Cap”
Greeeeeeeeeeeeahhhhhhh. Softly. Greeeeeeeeeeah. Louder.
“Boy, Cap, zero-six-fifteen”
Dad is frozen, small kid brother with the neighbor, Mynah birds just as irritating as earlier.
Placenta out.
Somebody took the child that just came to my catchers mit, some unseen hands, some body. I am busy. Placenta and all else that can be or is needed. Who knows? Just do what you are trained to do.
Help people. Help yourself.
Not tired.
Stabilize Mom. Comfort Dad. Assure new brother.
Clean up the scene.
Get your gear.
Back the Ambulance up, get our truck out.
Down the hill to the station, re-load the trauma kit, get cleaned up.
24 hours to go.
I am not tired, I am adrenilized more than I can handle.
My crew here now.
“Hey, Mark! We Aunties, or Uncles?!?”
Fuckers.
Who knows what or where that life will lead, who knows what takes us on paths we choose.
But paths and journeys they are, and always, somewhere….
Mynah birds will irritate.
Aloha.
3.7.09
Go Blow Things Up Day
Happy 4th peoples.
Will be on duty at the firehouse for the annual blowing up of things day. That is what it has become. Pretty much sucks, as the fun is gone, and the work only remains.
Small kid time, used to be a whole shit load of fun. Making and setting off fireworks. Shi-shi babies, cracker balls, camel firecrackers.
Limited pyro tendencies, but def kid time destruc-to fetish.
Anyway, stay safe, be happy, and have a whole lotta fun.
Aloha.
- Oh and BTW, Annie nailed it on the head.
Will be on duty at the firehouse for the annual blowing up of things day. That is what it has become. Pretty much sucks, as the fun is gone, and the work only remains.
Small kid time, used to be a whole shit load of fun. Making and setting off fireworks. Shi-shi babies, cracker balls, camel firecrackers.
Limited pyro tendencies, but def kid time destruc-to fetish.
Anyway, stay safe, be happy, and have a whole lotta fun.
Aloha.
- Oh and BTW, Annie nailed it on the head.
1.7.09
Drake U 197929.6.09
1 of many reasons I am Insane
Have had a attack of gout/arthritis in the ankle bone for a week. Most humans apparently have it for a day or 3 tops. Of course, I have to blow that to shitskis - right when killer swells are lighting up the beaches.
Actually called in sick at FIRE, which I never do since on Friday, doofus boy couldnt walk. cant/dont sleep either. Have to work at the Hotel since we have NO ONE that can work since 1 person is on vacation.
Lovely.
Foot @ Work
At least it will go away; not soon enuf, tho'.
Actually called in sick at FIRE, which I never do since on Friday, doofus boy couldnt walk. cant/dont sleep either. Have to work at the Hotel since we have NO ONE that can work since 1 person is on vacation.
Lovely.
Foot @ WorkAt least it will go away; not soon enuf, tho'.
27.6.09
23.6.09
Tutu Kane Day
Off to the west side on Fathers Day; adventure for the kids, and pre-work Papajoy for me.
20.6.09
Is It Asleep?
My Dad once asked my Mom that question. I dont think I have ever really been asleep. The engine just runs too fast; and the petrol powering it seems to not ever hit empty.
Happiness
Actually, it does. I think I hit "E" on the gauge with astonishing regularity now; it appears to have something to do with the amount of grey hairs that get harvested from my 'stache. I used to kid the Lady C that they were not grey, but blonde. They have become too obvious now. Sometimes I wonder deeply about what exactly I have accomplished as a father. I am lucky enough to have a role model/friend/advisor for my own Dad. Having always looked upon him as a fair, even temperd soul; I cast great shadows of doubt on my own fatherhood.
"They will always be your kids/children" - I really dont care for this saying; I imagine that everyone wishes to distance themselves from their own offspring once-in-a-while, dont they? When I question myself on this, I seem to self flaggelate since 'no one wants to excommunicate their own child' - do they? Tending to the infinite sadness that the prodigal son plys gets weary. When does Daddy quit? When father get fed up, what actions can he use that defends the action, as well as the sincerity of it?
Luckily, the ocean washes clear some of the silt of decaying truth. It respects those that respect it; and holds it safely in Mother Oceans grasp. Even tides will stir up the bottom; but those feeders will delight in a few morsels, given the chance to forage. From the days of hunter-gather, is that what all fathers do? Teach survival? Or better yet for some, to teach to flourish, and bloom in the worlds beauty and love.
It does not take big balls to admit defeat. It really only takes a look in the mirror; and realize that the eyes looking back at you are part of someone who cares as well.
Thank you, Dad for all the lessons hard and easy, and for all the support.
Me Ke Aloha Pumehana.
HappinessActually, it does. I think I hit "E" on the gauge with astonishing regularity now; it appears to have something to do with the amount of grey hairs that get harvested from my 'stache. I used to kid the Lady C that they were not grey, but blonde. They have become too obvious now. Sometimes I wonder deeply about what exactly I have accomplished as a father. I am lucky enough to have a role model/friend/advisor for my own Dad. Having always looked upon him as a fair, even temperd soul; I cast great shadows of doubt on my own fatherhood.
"They will always be your kids/children" - I really dont care for this saying; I imagine that everyone wishes to distance themselves from their own offspring once-in-a-while, dont they? When I question myself on this, I seem to self flaggelate since 'no one wants to excommunicate their own child' - do they? Tending to the infinite sadness that the prodigal son plys gets weary. When does Daddy quit? When father get fed up, what actions can he use that defends the action, as well as the sincerity of it?
Luckily, the ocean washes clear some of the silt of decaying truth. It respects those that respect it; and holds it safely in Mother Oceans grasp. Even tides will stir up the bottom; but those feeders will delight in a few morsels, given the chance to forage. From the days of hunter-gather, is that what all fathers do? Teach survival? Or better yet for some, to teach to flourish, and bloom in the worlds beauty and love.
It does not take big balls to admit defeat. It really only takes a look in the mirror; and realize that the eyes looking back at you are part of someone who cares as well.
Thank you, Dad for all the lessons hard and easy, and for all the support.
Me Ke Aloha Pumehana.
19.6.09
Life. Overheard.
Whiteguy: Can I get one of those Bic lighters?
(Cashier rings up one lighter.)
Cashier: $1.93, please.
Whiteguy: What! That's so expensive! You guys think pretty highly of your lighters, huh?
Cashier: To be fair, it is the ultimate convenience in man-made fire, which allowed our species to take over the planet from all the other animals.
(long pause)
Whiteguy: You know, when you put it that way, two bucks doesn't seem like that much to not have to rub two twigs together.
(Cashier rings up one lighter.)
Cashier: $1.93, please.
Whiteguy: What! That's so expensive! You guys think pretty highly of your lighters, huh?
Cashier: To be fair, it is the ultimate convenience in man-made fire, which allowed our species to take over the planet from all the other animals.
(long pause)
Whiteguy: You know, when you put it that way, two bucks doesn't seem like that much to not have to rub two twigs together.
Friendly Reminder
Hey you.
It is almost July.
Just a friendly reminder from your local neighborhood doofus.
Now, back to regularly scheduled bitching and moaning.
*Side order surf as well.
It is almost July.
Just a friendly reminder from your local neighborhood doofus.
Now, back to regularly scheduled bitching and moaning.
*Side order surf as well.
Imua Kamehameha
Kaleo just got into Kamehameha pre-school - below is the will Berniece Pauahi Bishop part of the reason there is land, money, and a school for Hawaiian Blooded children.
I give, devise and bequeath all of the rest, residue and remainder of my estate real and personal, wherever situated unto the trustees below named, their heirs and assigns forever, to hold upon the following trusts, namely: to erect and maintain in the Hawaiian Islands two schools, each for boarding and day scholars, one for boys and one for girls, to be known as, and called the Kamehameha Schools.
I direct my trustees to expend such amount as they may deem best, not to exceed however one-half of the fund which may come into their hands, in the purchase of suitable premises, the erection of school buildings, and in furnishing the same with the necessary and appropriate fixtures furniture and apparatus.
I direct my trustees to invest the remainder of my estate in such manner as they may think best, and to expend the annual income in the maintenance of said schools; meaning thereby the salaries of teachers, the repairing buildings and other incidental expenses; and to devote a portion of each years income to the support and education of orphans, and others in indigent circumstances, giving the preference to Hawaiians of pure or part aboriginal blood; the proportion in which said annual income is to be divided among the various objects above mentioned to be determined solely by my said trustees they to have full discretion.
It is a big deal. Let me put it like this - such a large percentage of children apply to get into Kamehameha that the chances of just getting picked are huge. Somewhere, someone or thing or buncha-guys-gathered-in-a-closet are loking out for one said kiddo.
The resources of Kamehameha are HUGE. they are the largest landowner in the state; and when land is at a premium, you get the most for your land (if you get my drift) All of my kids applied and where shot down. For him to have the educational opportunities that are available here, is amazing.
I'm just a bit player in his life; just a small part of what over the long run will encompass many experiences. I have always tried with all my keiki; all of them. For the most part, I think Lady C and I have done pretty good. Kaleo's father will always be a work in progress, this I must realize. It may never be completed, and that will always darken some part of our days, since a joyfilled offspring; healthy, happy and productive is all any parent can desire. But our family unit must be a whole, must strive for something that is better than sadness brought on by a selfish force of one.
Ohana cannot force happiness and joy; it must be accpeted by each as it occurs.
But you got to let it occur.
Safe weekends all.
Aloha.
I give, devise and bequeath all of the rest, residue and remainder of my estate real and personal, wherever situated unto the trustees below named, their heirs and assigns forever, to hold upon the following trusts, namely: to erect and maintain in the Hawaiian Islands two schools, each for boarding and day scholars, one for boys and one for girls, to be known as, and called the Kamehameha Schools.
I direct my trustees to expend such amount as they may deem best, not to exceed however one-half of the fund which may come into their hands, in the purchase of suitable premises, the erection of school buildings, and in furnishing the same with the necessary and appropriate fixtures furniture and apparatus.
I direct my trustees to invest the remainder of my estate in such manner as they may think best, and to expend the annual income in the maintenance of said schools; meaning thereby the salaries of teachers, the repairing buildings and other incidental expenses; and to devote a portion of each years income to the support and education of orphans, and others in indigent circumstances, giving the preference to Hawaiians of pure or part aboriginal blood; the proportion in which said annual income is to be divided among the various objects above mentioned to be determined solely by my said trustees they to have full discretion.
It is a big deal. Let me put it like this - such a large percentage of children apply to get into Kamehameha that the chances of just getting picked are huge. Somewhere, someone or thing or buncha-guys-gathered-in-a-closet are loking out for one said kiddo.
The resources of Kamehameha are HUGE. they are the largest landowner in the state; and when land is at a premium, you get the most for your land (if you get my drift) All of my kids applied and where shot down. For him to have the educational opportunities that are available here, is amazing.
I'm just a bit player in his life; just a small part of what over the long run will encompass many experiences. I have always tried with all my keiki; all of them. For the most part, I think Lady C and I have done pretty good. Kaleo's father will always be a work in progress, this I must realize. It may never be completed, and that will always darken some part of our days, since a joyfilled offspring; healthy, happy and productive is all any parent can desire. But our family unit must be a whole, must strive for something that is better than sadness brought on by a selfish force of one.
Ohana cannot force happiness and joy; it must be accpeted by each as it occurs.
But you got to let it occur.
Safe weekends all.
Aloha.
Ainokea
For the droves who look for Ainokea stuff via search engines -
Look to the right and paste that link. It will hook you up for what you are looking for.
Laters,
Hawaiianmark
Look to the right and paste that link. It will hook you up for what you are looking for.
Laters,
Hawaiianmark
17.6.09
Call.
You know when numbers show up that arent familiar? You know how that gets a tad irritating? You know how when you call that number back and a actual human answers how nice it is when they hang the hell up on you when you ask them to remove you from their lists?
(603) 214-3573
Type: Land Line
Provider: Freedom Ring Communications
Location: Errol, NH
Well, damn the bollocks and put he horse out for water Martha.
I hope somehow in the realm of the Interwebs/net that these promoters of phone flea-dom get hit with a billion friggin calls.
I warned them.
Really.
Would I lie?
(603) 214-3573
Type: Land Line
Provider: Freedom Ring Communications
Location: Errol, NH
Well, damn the bollocks and put he horse out for water Martha.
I hope somehow in the realm of the Interwebs/net that these promoters of phone flea-dom get hit with a billion friggin calls.
I warned them.
Really.
Would I lie?
16.6.09
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