Happy New Year! I’ve got a good feeling about 2010. There’s just something so balanced and wholesome about the sound of it… so balanced and wholesome that I’ve decided to make a few tentative New Year’s resolutions for the first time in many moons. I realize “tentative resolution” may sound like an oxymoron, but I fear commitment and “resolution” has a finality that scares me. I say keep ‘em tentative; much better to write in pencil than in permanent marker.

I have only three rules for these quasi-reso-whatevers:

1. They must be fun.
2. They must be flexible.
3. They must not inspire guilt.

That is all. In other words, I will only aim for goals that make happy, I will change my fickle mind any time I like and I will not starve myself to lose 30 pounds by bikini season (HA, it’s always bikini season here so that’s just silly).

Resolution #1: Get Scuba Certified

I’ve talked about this one for a long time, and I’m both exhilarated and apprehensive about the idea of exploring the depths of the big bad ocean.

Pros: seeing incredible marine life, reefs and even shipwrecks. Cons: The movie “Open Water.” Since I refused to see “Open Water” under any circumstances, the pros win.

All reservations aside, there is absolutely no better time to take the plunge (tee hee). I live in Hawaii, which is surrounded by some of the most beautiful dive spots in the world, and the Marine Corps Base 15 minutes away is offering a winter special for $159 per person. It would be crazy not to do it. Brian and I paid our fees today, and we start classes Monday. You’re mine, ocean.

What are your fun goals for 2010? More of mine to come…

For the first time in years, the holidays are going to be blissfully simple. Travel-free, present-free, stress-free beautiful simplicity. Brian and I are staying here in Hawaii, and my family is coming to us to celebrate. My parents just left after a fantastic and far-too-short visit, and Melia and Darren are staying through Christmas (cheers to work-from-home buddies).

Matsumoto’s shave ice in Haleiwa

We all agreed that we don’t need to spend more money or receive more things, so instead of exchanging gifts we have been treating ourselves to some amazing meals together. It’s a tradition we’ve been moving toward the last few years, and I fully support all future gifts being offered in caloric form.

Yet another classy toothless photo of Brian

I’m a little bit sad I won’t be in Sonoma for Christmas (through all my moves over the years, I have always made it home), but I’m mostly relieved to be able to stay put for once. No flying from coast to coast or trying to pack a dozen dinners and happy hours into one week; no frantically shopping for gifts at the last minute because I am a horrible, horrible procrastinator. Just taking it easy in my new home with some of my favorite people.

The biggest challenge of spending Christmas in Hawaii will probably be convincing myself that it is, in fact, Christmas. It’s a bit of a tough sell when it’s 80 degrees out, I’m planning a boating trip for next weekend and Brian recently got a vicious sunburn at the beach.

And no, I am not complaining about living in a tropical paradise; I am not a cold weather person, and I am absolutely OK with wearing flip-flops (I’m sorry… “slippers”) in the dead of winter. But there is something a little off about decorating a tree, listening to “White Christmas” and drinking egg nog when every fan in the house is on full blast and I’m in a full-body sweat. It’s already December 15 and I am nowhere near the holiday spirit. This will not stand, man. I need some Christmas cheer and fast. I propose a three-pronged plan of action:

• Carols. Lots of ‘em. There is nothing like “All I Want for Christmas is You” and “Santa Baby” on loop to set the mood. Melia brought our family staple, Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas,” and I just purchased our childhood favorite, New Kids on the Block’s “Merry, Merry Christmas” (we have it on cassette back home). We may or may not dance and sing along to “Funky, Funky Xmas” every single time it comes on. Brian and Darren are in for quite a treat.

• Cookies. Our mom makes some unbelievably delicious Christmas cookies every year (one recipe is called “butter dream cookies” if that is any indication) and brought a huge container of them all the way to Hawaii for us. Brian and I got a KitchenAid mixer (read: the appliance I have lusted after for years) as a wedding present, which means I can finally make Lil Mom’s crack-filled cookies away from home for the first time ever. Good thing we burn so many calories dancing to NKOTB.

• Decorations. Brian’s parents sent us a beautiful wreath for our door, and every time I walk by it, I have to bury my nose in it and breathe in that glorious pine smell. My neighbors are starting to ask questions. I absolutely need to buy a Christmas tree that I can sniff to my heart’s content and decorate with the pipe-cleaner-and-clothespin ornaments I made in elementary school and have been saving until I had a tree of my own someday.

It’ll be a blend of new and old traditions this year, which I suppose is fitting for my first year as a bona fide grown-up married lady. Happy holidays, everyone. I’ll be sure to drink a mai tai and have an extra funky, funky Christmas for those of you who are far away.

Many of you have asked me about these recently, so I feel that it’s my duty to share them with the world.

These are the basic rules to what can only be described as the greatest drinking game of all time. Now before you get all preachy on me about how drinking games are juvenile and contribute to unhealthy habits, hear me out. It’s called Dawson’s Drink, and it’s based around the best angsty teen television series EVER, “Dawson’s Creek.” (If you disagree with that last statement, we can clearly not continue our friendship. Move along now.) Yes, the dialogue is ridiculous, the clothes are atrocious (I was sooo much more stylish in 1997), the acting is shaky, and yet it creates the perfect storm of hilarity and drama and genuine entertainment. In other words, it is the ideal canvas on which to paint a masterpiece drinking game.

My brilliant friends and I came up with it one hot and humid night in New Orleans last year, and it has evolved beautifully as we add new players and progress through the series.

Don’t wait. Go play Dawson’s Drink right now.

The Number One Rule:

Every player must choose one of the four main characters (Dawson, Joey, Pacey and Jen)– it’s OK if more than one player is assigned to each character. Every time that character says something no teenager would ever say, drink. New players must be Dawson at least once during their first game. *As other pivotal characters are introduced to the cast (Andie, Jack, etc.), feel free to add them to the mix.

You must also drink when:

• Anyone wears mom jeans
• There is a Steven Spielberg reference
• There is an allusion to Dawson’s future career as a famous filmmaker
• Jen’s grandmother calls someone by their full Christian name (Jennifer, Josephine, etc.)
• Jen’s grandmother brings up God or Jesus
• There is a reference to Jen’s sordid past in New York
• Joey climbs in or out of Dawson’s bedroom window
• Dawson’s parents are getting it on
• Pacey awkwardly tries to hit on girls
• There is an episode clearly ripped off from a movie plot (for example: “The Breakfast Club” or “The Blair Witch Project” episodes)

Optional rules (warning: these happen really frequently). Drink when:

• Joey makes that terrible smirk/pout/grimace/constipation face
• Someone is in a boat
• Someone is gazing pensively out at the water

Bonus rules for the true Dawson’s aficionado (these are from Mr. Chuck Alexander, whose pop culture prowess is damn near unbeatable):

• There is a stipulation that a two-thirds majority can vote to make the Pacey Designate drink whenever he actually says something a teenager would say (a good time to put this rule into effect is mid-Season 1 post-Ms. Jacobs hookup, pre-Andy McPhee).
• For Season 2 (though only Season 2 as they manage to drop this aspect of his character after the evil English teacher makes him out himself to the whole school by reading his poem aloud), drink any time Jack does something clumsy or mentions how clumsy he is.
• Any episode featuring Cliff:  a mandatory group drink any time he does or says something creepy (this also applies later to Michael Pitt’s character Henry, who is so creepy that I genuinely believe he collects dead squirrels).

I hope this inspires you to bring the wonder of Dawson’s Drink to your next party. Enjoy, and feel free to add your own rules in the comments section below!

It’s been awhile since I’ve made time to blog, which I blame on two reasons:

No, a different two reasons…

Reason #1. I’ve been living the dream in Hawaii. Yes, you’re probably all sick of hearing about how beautiful and wonderful it is here, but well… I’m sorry, the truth hurts. I love the weather and the laidback pace of life and the postcard-worthy backdrop of mountains and sea. I love that I now have a list of friends I can call when I want to work/watch YouTube videos in a coffee shop or see the latest chick flick or declare “Margarita Wednesday” a legitimate staple of each week. I love that I’ve already had three fabulous visitors this summer, with many more to come in the next few months. I’m happy here, and now that Brian is home from deployment, life isn’t too shabby. There is still so much to see and explore, and it’s exciting to know we won’t have to move again for at least another year.

Reason #2. This summer has been a series of events I like to call “Teach Gill to be more Zen and less attached to material possessions.” In the course of a few months, I lost three cameras (including my beloved old Canon DSLR) and an iPod in an auto theft and my MacBook hard drive in a devastating computer crash. I lost a lot of photos and music, shed a few tears and wallowed in self-pity a bit, but I’m trying to bounce back and move on. The silver lining is that our renters’ insurance covered the cost of my stolen camera equipment, so I was able to buy a newer, more awesome camera (RIP, 10-D). I’m hoping it’ll motivate me to document more of our life here.

I may be missing a few snapshots from the last few months, but that doesn’t make those months any less fabulous. Here’s to happy times and fresh starts…

The YouthNoise ladies have a work retreat… and snorkel the heck out of Hanauma Bay

Kathleen and I have eight years of pictures of us making these faces

Tracey takes her BFF Molly out for a beer

OMG, Kenny Rogers goes to Creekside!

Chafee homecoming! Flowers for everyone

We get to celebrate Nicole’s birthday and the fact that we’re all on the same coast

Bad Lisa, no licking

We show that “Real World: D.C.” crew how it’s done

Beautiful wedding, beautiful couple

But not as beautiful as this couple

Brian and I bust a move at the first wedding we’ve been to besides our own

The after-party rages on in the hotel lobby

Margarita Wednesday on the beach

Tiff and Zac’s wine tasting party o’ fun (not to brag, but our wine may have won the grand prize)

It’s hot as hell on the way up Diamond Head, but the view is worth it

Glorious news. Brian and I spent a few tedious, yet rewarding, hours on Friday evening updating the design and functionality of this fine blog you are reading. Voila! (And yes, we are huge dorks who voluntarily spend Friday nights tinkering with Photoshop, WordPress and BlueHost. Go ahead and judge.)

I’m pretty darn happy with it and am thanking my lucky stars I married a man who can A) design a kickass pirate-hula-girl-themed masthead and B) keep me from throwing my computer off the balcony in a frustrated rage. This is just the kick in the pants I need to start writing more often, so stay tuned for more in the coming days and weeks.

Smooches,

Gill

I’d like to preface the following with the important fact that most of the Navy wives I have met here are damn cool ladies. They are smart and funny and independent and generally awesome people. They are women I would want to be friends with, whether or not our husbands shared an occupation, and for that I am very grateful.

That said, what’s the deal with some of these other Navy wives? Have I somehow stumbled into a Lifetime original series?

On the one hand, it can be comforting to talk to women who know exactly what you are going through– excruciatingly long deployments, bureaucratic red tape, ridiculous difficulty planning anything further than two weeks in advance. On the other hand, that can’t be all we have to talk about.

I’ve been a little unsettled by the Navy wives I’ve met here who don’t seem to have an identity outside of being a Navy wife. Instead of asking what I do for a living or what my interests are, they ask what my husband does on the ship and where we have been stationed in the past. They sign emails “Have a great Navy day!” and drop acronyms I don’t understand into normal conversation. They form hierarchies based on the rank of their husbands instead of on any merits of their own. I kind of want to shake them and scream, “We are not in the Navy!” If Brian talked this much to his friends about my job, I would be seriously concerned about him.

Honestly, I find it a little insulting. The Navy may play a large role in my life right now, whether I like it or not, but it is not actually my life. I do not work on a ship; therefore, I find talking incessantly about what happens on a ship strange and annoying. Bottom line: I don’t really care what your husband does; I want to know who you are. What do you like to do? What do we have in common? I was a complete person before I married into this role, and I plan to remain that way. I have a job, I have hobbies, I have dreams… and believe it or not, all these things are not wrapped up in my “hubby’s” job (related note: the word “hubby” makes my skin crawl; don’t do it).

It’s funny because the possibility that I might someday become a Navy wife has been a running joke with our friends since Brian and I started dating back in college. Haha, the barefoot NorCal feminist is going to have to learn to be a proper lady and not say outlandish things at dinner with the admiral. Kind of like “Pretty Woman,” except for the minor detail that I am not a hooker.

We all joked about the Navy wife stereotype, but I didn’t actually expect it to be true in real life. I don’t know how to cope with it aside from what I’m already doing: bitching/laughing about it, hanging out with people I like and avoiding the others like the plague. Other suggestions are welcome.

Brian and I have been married for six months today, which, by Us Weekly standards, means one of us should be dating Angelina Jolie by now. I probably wouldn’t have noticed the date if my wonderful sister hadn’t emailed me with the note: “I’ve been thinking about your six-month wedding anniversary for a while, wanting to give you something to commemorate it. Attached is the extended remix of the toast I gave at the reception, including the parts that I left out because I was winging it up there. Happy anniversary!”

I don’t like to brag, but I have the best sister ever. No, no, I’m sure your sister is cool and all, but I win. Deal with it. Thank you for this, Melia. It made me weep at the wedding, and I still get a little verklempt every time I read it. I can’t wait till the day when I get to return the favor, grabbing the mike after a few too many glasses of champagne and slurring, “You can’ have ‘er… she’s mine!”

Toasting with my two favorite people

To Gill and Brian
Maid of Honor’s Toast
January 17, 2009

As you may know, I’m Gill’s older sister by three years. We’ve been close throughout our lives, and she’s one of my favorite people on this earth. There’s something about having a sister so close in age that’s like nothing else. We have the same mannerisms, and it’s common for us to say things in unison. We have almost a secret language that comes from the roughly 10,000 inside jokes that date back over 20 years. I say one word and she’ll know what I’m talking about. That’s why no one will ever play the game of Taboo with us.

Just as there’s a special bond that comes with being sisters, there’s also a special kind of torment that an older sister reserves for the younger one. My mom likes to tell a story about when I was three years old and dragging my blanket down the hall…with little baby Gill asleep on the end. I told my mom that I was taking my blanket back. I also used to hide her stuffed orange Kitty, which she loved, in places like the freezer, or the microwave, and she would tell my mom she knew I was up to something because I was “smiling my mean smile.” I told her that I didn’t know what she was talking about. [Ed. note: This was the point in the toast when Darren confirmed my accusation that Melia has a mean smile. It's a fact; it's time to admit it.]

Probably right before she tried to feed the baby raisins

Of course, we had tons of happy times, too. We used to dress up Barbies while we watched terrible daytime TV during school vacations. We decorated the Christmas tree every year while listening to “Funky Funky Xmas” by New Kids on the Block. Actually, we still do.

San Francisco, 1986

Gill has always been so mature that I’ve always felt more a peer than someone three years older and wiser. I’ve always admired her for being the trailblazer in our family. She got her ears pierced first, moved across the country first, and now she’s getting married first. People ask me if it’s strange for me to have my little sister get married first, and I tell them that I love it, because when it’s my turn, she can tell me what to do.

I’ve always admired Gill for her courage to try new things no matter what anyone else is doing, and for so many other reasons. She has the entire package — she’s intelligent and beautiful, adventurous and active, creative and funny. And the biggest feat of all is that people don’t hate her for it. Quite the opposite. Girls love her because she will take them for a manicure and a martini when they’re feeling down. Guys love her because she’ll drink Miller High Lifes and play tackle football. It’s impossible not to love her. In fact, there’s a Cowboy Mouth song called “Everybody Loves Jill,” and they do not tell a lie.

I could never picture a guy who would suit Gill, a guy who A) wouldn’t be intimidated by all of her charms, and B) would bring just as much to the table. Brian surprised me by having both of these qualities and being an excellent fit for Gill. He shares her sense of humor, and like Gill, he’s smart, passionate, artistic, and really really ridiculously good-looking. One day they will have children and give rise to a superior hybrid race. When they do have kids, don’t be surprised if you never get a traditional holiday card from their family, the kind of posed studio portrait with matching sweaters. Instead, they’ll all probably dress up as Christmas pirates or will be leaping around in full-body spandex and afro wigs. (Brian, I’m not referring to any real events here).

Gill and Brian’s song, which will be their first dance and inspired the inscription on their rings, is Jack Johnson’s “Better Together,” and they really are. They’re one of those couples where the girl is cool, the guy is cool, and together they’re fantastic. They’re two talented individuals who have a synergy, meaning that their combined energy is more powerful than each alone.

I know that we’re all relieved that they’ll actually be ABLE to be together, since they’ve had to be apart during much of their four-year relationship. The summer after Gill’s college graduation, Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans, and they had to evacuate. At that point, Gill left for France and they did long distance for the better part of a year. Then Brian was deployed, came back briefly, and was deployed again. When Gill and Bri finally settle into a normal routine, I think we’ll have to storm their house in the middle of the night just to make them feel at home.

Brian, you are one lucky guy to get to be Gill’s husband. I know this because I got to be her pseudo-husband when Gill and I lived together in San Francisco during your first deployment. She and I would make nachos and watch our favorite TV shows every week, go grocery shopping together, and even be each other’s date for weddings. (Sorry, that’s why she tries to lead now every time you two dance.) When she moved away, I missed my partner in crime like crazy. I used to burst into tears every time I walked past her bedroom door. The only thing that made it easier was knowing that you two were happy. Plus, I bought a spinning wheel and a few dozen cats to keep me company until I met Darren.

Gill, I can’t believe that you’re all growns up. I can’t tell you how much you mean to me, and how happy I am that you’ve found the perfect guy for you. I can’t wait until we live in the same place again.

Brian, I know you appreciate Gill as much as I do, and you’ll be as good a husband to her as I was. Welcome to the family. You fit right in, and we love you already.

Now, everyone, please raise your glasses for a toast. Baby Sis, and my new Little Bro, may your lives continue to be better together. Cheers!

I am a couple of steps closer to thinking of Kailua as home, and it is a damn good feeling.

I spent two weeks on the mainland in June– two glorious weeks with family and friends in the Bay Area and Portland that made me wish more than once that I had extended my trip. Hey, I work from home; what’s stopping me from escaping reality for two months instead of two weeks? I could easily get used to going to movies at the Sebastiani Theatre with my parents, eating my mom’s home cooking, grabbing beers with my fantastic high school friends and San Francisco posse.

Painting the town red with the ‘Noma crew

It wouldn’t be a night out in SF without one of these pictures

It felt so comfortable and safe to go home, and I could have coasted through an entire summer in Sonoma. It was tempting, but I knew staying longer would just be an attempt at avoiding starting my life in my new home. I already have a strong support network in California that I can go back to whenever I want; I needed to start building a new one in Hawaii.

In the end, I came back to Kailua just in time for the long Fourth of July weekend, and I’m glad I did. That weekend was a turning point for me– a wonderful balance of outings with new friends and time alone to finish settling into our apartment. Since I got back, I’ve gone sailing in Kaneohe Bay, hosted the first dinner party in the new place (on the table I repainted myself… I’m awfully proud of it and will probably start carrying photos in my wallet) and attended a writers’ group in Honolulu. Life here is pretty good.

Sailing on the Fourth of July

I still have rough patches when I all I want to do is throw some clothes in a bag and fly to San Francisco or New Orleans or whatever port city Brian is in at the moment, but they’re not as frequent as they used to be. I have a mental list of healthy ways of coping with stress or homesickness or general unhappiness (for example, drinking a bottle of Jim Beam and sobbing over the “Army Wives” marathon would not qualify) that I pull from when needed, but I decided to write them out into a physical list. I started this as a project for a friend going through a break-up, and I’ve been expanding it gradually. I’d love to hear more ideas from everyone else.

1. Connecting with my people back home.

After my last post, I received an outpouring of supportive comments and IMs and emails and phone calls from friends and family far away, and I was reminded again just how lucky I am to have these relationships and how important it is to maintain them. The little connections throughout the day– Facebook wall posts, Twitter replies and Google chats (can you tell I work for a Web site?)– keep me sane. The bigger ones– emails, phone calls and, my favorite, video Skype chats– make me bow down and give thanks to the Internet gods. Because of Skype’s magic, I can show Melia in Jackson how we’ve decorated the new apartment and have a good old-fashioned sobfest with Kaila and Jenna in New Orleans.

2. Spending time with new friends.

This transition would have been much harder if I hadn’t met some awesome people right off the bat through Brian’s ship and the few friends we already had here. They have been nothing but welcoming, and it’s pretty amazing to have fun, like-minded friends who are always up for an afternoon at the beach or a night of pizza and sangria.

3. Exercising.

This one doesn’t always happen as much as it should, but getting my heart rate up is the easiest way for me to stop feeling crazy (remember that logic from “Legally Blonde”? “Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t shoot their husbands.” Word, Elle.). If I go for a swim or a walk at the beach or punch out my aggression with Billy Blanks in Tae-Bo, everything seems a little more manageable.

4. Taking a class or picking up a new hobby.

In the past, I’ve tried to be flexible enough for yoga and responsible enough for financial planning (neither is an easy task for me). Now I’m trying to learn a few chords on the guitar and searching for the right halau to start up hula after an eight-year hiatus. I find the challenge of learning something new, especially something a little difficult for me, is a good way to keep my mind occupied.

5. Doing something creative.

I’m not quite at the point where I use pinking shears and puffy paints for scrapbooking projects, but I do turn to writing and photography and ReadyMade-style decorating when I need a creative outlet. Making something from scratch, even if it’s not a work of art, is cathartic.

6. Exploring.

No matter how homesick I get, I can take comfort in the fact that I keep moving to really cool places. Bottom line: I live in Hawaii and there is no shortage of places to explore. Beaches, art galleries, hiking trails, farmers’ markets, restaurants, dive bars… I’ve got my work cut out for me.

I’ve been having a hard time lately getting myself to sit down and sort through the crazy, frazzled mess that is my brain and somehow translate those thoughts into coherent, entertaining blog posts. I guess I haven’t posted anything in a few weeks because I just don’t feel like being entertaining. I feel like I’m just coming down from a massive high– months of packing and unpacking and moving and briefly landing and moving again– and I don’t quite know what to do with myself now that the dust has settled.

Brian and I finally made it to Hawaii; we have an apartment and a deck full of plants and a list of plans for our new island existence. I should be ecstatic to start our new life here (what better place to begin a marriage?) and I am; the problem is that I’m in newlywed honeymoon bliss… by myself. For some reason, champagne breakfast in bed in paradise seems a lot less romantic and a lot more alcoholic when you do it alone.

After a record seven and a half months in the same place, Brian and I are separated by a few continents and bodies of water again. He left on June 4 to meet his ship on deployment in Asia, and I’ve been struggling to settle into our new place and into the concept of being alone for the first time in awhile. I keep thinking every time we do this that it will get easier and that I’ll somehow magically be composed and reasonable when saying goodbye, instead of the sobbing mess clinging to Brian at the airport security line. Logically, I know that three months is a ridiculously easy deployment compared to the six or nine straight months apart we’ve endured in the past. But my emotions aren’t logical and here I am again, feeling crazy.

I get frustrated with myself because I’m not one of those girls who can’t stand to be alone. I tell myself that I’m independent, that I’m capable, that I don’t need to depend on anyone else for my own happiness. Each time we go through a long separation, I try to prove this in one of two extremes: excessive solitude or obsessive overscheduling.

When I lived in France, I spent the vast majority of my time alone. I lived by myself, I passed the hours reading or watching trashy French TV, I hibernated in my tiny apartment to escape the mind-numbing cold. I had a few good friends who kept me from being a total hermit, but, in retrospect, I was probably a little withdrawn and depressed. When I lived in San Francisco, I tried the opposite approach and threw myself into work and socializing as if I would die if I stopped to catch my breath. I scheduled every minute of the day with dinners and happy hours and shopping dates because if I stayed busy, I wouldn’t have to think about any of those pesky emotions. This strategy clearly didn’t work either since I cried more during that year than in any other time in my life.

This time, I’m trying something new. I’m admitting that it’s OK to be sad and miss Brian when he’s halfway around the globe and that it’s OK to have a breakdown or two because I’m living several thousand miles away from the people who are most important to me. It’s OK, and I don’t have to be fine all the time. Huge, life-disrupting changes are painful, even when they result in living in Hawaii.

I used to be afraid of losing myself in a relationship, because needing someone else was equivalent to giving up my identity and becoming a clingy, needy, desperate girl who can’t cut it on her own. I don’t believe that anymore. I need a lot of people in my life. I need my family and my friends and, yes, I also need Brian. We depend on each other to brave the challenges and to celebrate the victories in this crazy world, and I am lucky to have a partner in crime who is in it for the long haul. I know I can survive on my own, but I am choosing to build a life with someone else. And, in the sage words of “When Harry Met Sally,” “When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”

It’s official. Brian and I live in Hawaii, and so do all our worldly possessions. After being in limbo for so many months and shuttling from one end of the country every few weeks, it is such a relief to be here. And plan to stay here. Well, I will stay here; Brian ships off for Southeast Asia next week for the last half of his ship’s deployment.

It’s bittersweet, finally arriving in our much-anticipated new home and then having to be separated again, but we’re making the most of the two weeks we have together. And by “making the most” of it, I mean, spending far too much money on closet organizers and home electronics and trying not to be crushed in our sleep by the walls of boxes surrounding us.

Terrifying, isn’t it?

It’s a little overwhelming to unpack and organize tons (literally; the moving guys told me our stuff weighed 4,600 lbs.) of clothes and papers and kitchen gadgets, but I can’t complain. We live in Hawaii. I don’t know if I get to complain ever again (who am I kidding? I totally will, but I’ll have a better view while I’m whining).

Yesterday when I got off work, we drank a beer, walked to Kailua Beach (15 minutes from our apartment), swam laps in 80-degree water and ate risotto at the Italian restaurant around the corner. Somehow, I think we’ll be able to deal with a little manual labor.

I’ll give a more extensive update later, but here are our first few days via my Twitter soundbites:

We made it to Hawaii! Slept like bebes on the couch cushions that make up our bed till our furniture arrives. Errands and painting today.

I have never been more excited to go hardware and houseware shopping. If we can find chalkboard paint today, I’ll be a happy girl.

We just bought basil, rosemary & tomato plants, green bean and chili pepper seeds & a compost bin. I am determined to grow a green thumb.

Mmm… in desperate need of beer and burgers. Goin’ over to meet some folks at Matt and Heather’s place.

Walking to Kailua Beach to test out the waters. Loving this weekend.

Screw the gym. I am going to swim in the ocean every day for as long as we live here. I’m not even fazed by the jellyfish sting on my arm.

Crashing after a long day of spending too much money and drinking too much wine.

Really, previous renter? Lime green contact paper? For shame.

Tired and content after a long day of unpacking and an incredible dinner at the Japanese place around the corner.

There is something seriously wrong when the Internet I’m stealing from my neighbors works and the one I’m paying for doesn’t.

So I guess Kailua is on a New Orleans schedule for afternoon rain every day at 3:00. No thunder so far, though.

Rocking out to some Amos Lee and getting super excited for the concert in Honolulu tomorrow! And drinking a lot of coffee.

The screaming baby upstairs is serving as extra birth control in case I needed it.

It’s only 10 a.m. and I already want a beer. It’s after noon almost everywhere else.

Pandora isn’t loading well today, so I’m streaming Bay Area radio. KFOG and Alice @ 97.3. Sounds like home.

Afternoon rain, I love you. Thank you for saving the lives of my plants. They really appreciate it.