Mahalo...fulness

HONOLULU, 7:45 P.M. -- I'm sitting at an internet kiosk in the Honolulu Airport. Access is 20 cents a minute and yet they still block MySpace. Maybe they should tell people that before they are prompted to swipe their cards.

So, this means the vacation is very nearly over.

Which, for reasons I can't even begin to explain, really, really sucks. Amber's gone, her sister's in China with our Hawaii host Mel, and there is not a single person on this freaking island who knows me. Suddenly it's very lonely here. And I'm damn near across the globe from all the people I know and have ever known.

That's not to say I haven't enjoyed the time alone I had today after Amber's flight left around noon. I took the rental car and cruised to Pearl Harbor to pay my respects. It took a few loops around the interstate and some highways before I got the hang of where to go.

Because I am a colossal moron, that same scenerio repeated itself when I tried to return the car. It would help if the rental-car place had an office that wasn't tiny and tucked into an area dominated by warehouses that dwarf it, causing me miss it every time I'd pass, prompting yet another loop around the airport, through baggage claim, and back out near the highway. Perhaps six times before the sun went down and I had to call the place to have them walk me through how to get there. (Still not helpful since I can neither spell nor pronounce most of the street names here, but I made it. Finally.)

This driving thing, I swear. I'll get the hang of it by the time I'm 30.

So, here I sit, sweaty (nerves + humidity = pity the fool who gets stuck next to me in the plane) and with greasy hair, ready to depart for Seattle. If this were 1992, both of those things might win me cool points. But it's not. So I'm just some smelly moron, laden with bags, rolling up into Seattle at 6 a.m. to kill seven hours before her next flight. Ahhh, adventure.