I took the scenic route. Which is to say I took the same route I always take. I turned right and drove along Kamehameha highway along the jutting green velvet Ko'olauloa mountain range. I could have turned left and driven past the startlingly provocative eye candy of Sunset Beach, Pipeline and Waimea Bay, but I did that road trip yesterday.
Color my crazy!!
In Hawaii cell phone use while driving is now illegal so alls I could think about while passing those velvety green Ko'olauloa mountains was how bad I wanted to talk on the phone. I was sorely temptated and I broke the law.
Over and over again.
It was like a sickness.
I called my mom and then I called my sister and then I called my daughter's future coach and then I called my hub's future boss. And then I called my hub not once, or twice, but FIVE times.
"Why do you keep calling me?" he finally said. "Because I'm trying to get arrested," I told him.
If I were in jail I couldn't move to Utah. (Plus I'd have plenty of time to blog my brains out.)
I drove past two police officers while breaking the law, but neither one arrested me so it looks like I'm still moving to Utah (which isn't so bad if you consider the cable keeps going out (except for the BYU channel) and all we have to watch is four old guys talking about the New Testament).
During my road trip I was looking on the bright side of life through my rose colored sunglasses when Jack Johnson came on the radio and spoke to me, as only Jack Johnson can. He reminded me how badly I want to turn the whole world upside down. And then I had an epiphany. Maybe I could start with Utah. After all, who's to say what's impossible and can't be found?
(Had to throw that photo up so you never forget that Jack Johnson once wrapped his arm around me . . . and kissed me on the cheek . . . and told my daughter that she looks just like me.)
So, during my road trip to Honolulu I decided to play the cloud game in honor of my MIL. For a split second I thought I saw E.T. as a baby, but mostly I just saw cotton balls. Tons and tons of cotton balls.
You know how when you take cotton balls out of the bag they're all bunched up together? I saw some of those.
And you know how when you soak your cotton balls in nail polish remover and the cotton ball gets all clumpy and flat? I saw some of those.
And you know how when you get a perm and the hair dresser outlines your head in that long stretched out cotton ball that looks like pulled taffy? I saw some of those too.
But the truth of the matter it's hard to care about cotton balls when you're driving through Honolulu for the last time? You would have thought Barry Manilow was in the passenger seat singing Can't Smile Without You by the way my heart got that squeezy-tight sensation it gets when it just can't pump enough palm trees through my veins!
But I shook it off by stopping at my favorite hole-in-the-wall dive, Abargios. I sat at my booth all alone and ate some Chicken Parmesan and drank some Mountain Dew and thought about cotton balls. How soft they are. And fluffy. And innocent. And how they wouldn't know pain if they were soaked in it.
Stupid cotton balls. Who needs 'em anyway!? (Unless you're removing your nail polish or getting a perm).