I’ve been anxiously waiting for the inaugural issue of the Hawaii Women’s Journal to be published. I didn’t know what shape it would take. I only knew what my small contribution to the magazine would look like and even that was limited to its Microsoft Office form.  Last week, they put up an online version where you could skim (and read) through the entire magazine. I was amazed at how everything came together and can’t wait to hold an actual copy in my hands (yes, I’m dorky like that).

Anyway, tonight is the official launch party of the magazine at the Manifest! The party runs from 6-10pm and it’s absolutely FREE. I read that there will also be free organic food from Kale’s Natural Foods, Mango Season, and DJ Kee providing musical entertainment. More importantly, there will be hard copies of the Hawaii Women’s Journal for you to swipe for me so I can send to my relatives, I mean, keep for yourself.

If you’re interested in reading my article, “Are you there, Angst? It’s me,  Quarter-Life Crisis” you can head on over to their official website or download a PDF copy of it here (right-click and save link as).

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uA60iyCd24s

If you’re free tonight, Schemes and Consequences will be performing a 45 minute set tonight at Mad Dog’s Saloon in Waikiki for their Acoustic Open Mic Night! We’ll be playing “I’m Your Gin and Juice” (check out the video above) and lots of other emo-tastic pop hits.

Hopefully The Bipolar Quartet (Kevin and Rob from Screeming Weener) will also be performing tonight. I really, REALLY love their version of Rancid’s “Ruby Soho.”

There’s no cover. It’s just 21 and up. If you come early enough, there’s lots of room to hang out.

See you tonight!

Drink specials tonight: $3 Stella Draft, $3 Bud Light, $3 Jagermeister.

Shaka, brah.

I moved back to Hawaii last summer with the intention of finishing my novel. I had pushed out roughly 14 chapters before taking a break. Lately, though, I’ve been writing a lot. The other day, I wanted to write and realized that I had forgotten my journal at home. It would’ve been too difficult to write notes on my phone and the scratch paper in my wallet was too small to jot down my thoughts. So I went to Longs and bought an 89 cents composition book (the kind you turned into “slam books” in intermediate school and passed back and forth with your friends). I sat and wrote for an hour straight. I got ink all over the side of my palm and my fingers quickly cramped up when I finished. It felt great.

Anyway, I just finished writing this story last night and I thought I’d post it here. It’s part of a series of dating adventures I’m writing for my other blog, I Won’t Make You Eggs in the Morning.

*      *      *

I’M A LITTLE FURRY

45 minutes before Borders closed on a Wednesday night, I met Jaina in the music section somewhere between “RA” and “RE.” She was using the listening station next to me, tapping her foot to the newest Radiohead album. She looked as if she were in deep thought, biting her plump bottom lip and carefully reading the album summary in front of her. She was pretty, in a very normal way, with long wavy hair and a slender body. I reached for an album in front of her and pretended to read the tracklisting on the back. She turned to me and smiled politely.

“Is it good?” I asked. I pointed to the Radiohead cover illuminated on the listening station wall.

“Hmm?” she said, a little loud, probably because she couldn’t hear herself. She took off the greasy oversized headphones and let them hang around her neck.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to know if you liked what you were listening to.”

She held the ear pieces and smiled thoughtfully. “I do. I like this album a lot. It’s one of those albums you have to listen to in a setting like this.”

“At the bookstore?”

“No, no. Well, yes. Sorta.”

I laughed. “What?”

“Some albums,” she explained, “are meant to be listened at home or in the car, as if they were meant to be shared with everyone at the same time. Albums like these feel like they’re meant just for your ears. Like we’re meant to be listening to it one by one.”

“I’m sorry—you lost me.”

She took the earphones off and positioned them on me. “Just listen.” She came closer to me than a stranger would, but it didn’t feel uncomfortable. I adjusted the ear pieces so it’d fit properly and turned up the volume to the highest setting.

Thom Yorke was in the middle of mumbling a line about a Cheshire cat grin. The guitar riff was steady and yet urgent, sounding like someone making their way through the crowd in a seedy bar. The ethereal moans in the background made me want to kiss her. I wondered if that was intentional. The song made me feel strangely vulnerable, as if the running bassline had opened me up and left me exposed. In that moment, I remembered the thrill of meeting someone new and wanting everything.

Jaina studied my face, trying to read my reaction. It seemed she knew the song well. When Yorke began wailing in my ear and the guitar notes raced, she squeezed my forearm as if to sigh with me. “Amazing,” I told her, with the headphones still on. I was louder than I should’ve been, but I didn’t care. “I get it now.”

Some girls still smile like they’re in elementary school, jaw tightened and teeth clenched, as if trying to squeeze it out. But Jaina was different. She looked like she was smiling even when I don’t think she meant to. We didn’t say anything for a while and just stared at each other. We looked so small just then, as if hiding from everyone else between obscure CD titles nobody bothered to thumb through.

She told me about the first CD she ever purchased (Ace of Base, but I told her I wouldn’t judge her) and how she still had a soft spot for cheesy 90’s music. I told her about how I’d take walks in DC during the winter just to listen to music on my ipod and she said she did the same when she lived in California for school. She was the kind of person that probably would tell you her entire life story if you asked and I really enjoyed that about her. When I asked her a question, she could never give me a short answer and instead told these witty and occasionally tragic stories about her life.

A voice crackled overhead. “Aloha, customers! Borders Books and Music will be closing in 15 minutes. Please bring your purchases to the front so that we may ring you up. Thank you and have a good night.”

“I totally lost track of time,” she shook her head and glanced quickly at her watch. “I think I just missed my bus.”

“You don’t drive?” I asked.

“I do. My car’s at home,” she explained. “I didn’t think I would be long, so I just walked here. But that was, like, five hours ago.”

“Sorry, sorry. That’s my fault,” I said, touching her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to keep you. It’s just—I don’t know—all the talking about music and you’re so pretty. I completely forgot where I was.” My cheeks felt hot. “And now I must remove my foot from my mouth.”

She smiled coyly at me, in that way that suggests the night is far from being over. “You’re cute.”

“Look, this might sound weird and I don’t mean it to,” I stuttered. “But if you want, I can give you a ride home. You shouldn’t walk home this late.”

She looked towards the door, probably trying to quickly assess her options. “Sure, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not.”

“Well, then at least come in and have a glass of wine when we get there.”

When a pretty girl invites you over at 11pm for a glass of wine, you always say yes. When a pretty girl you’ve just shared an intense conversation about music with invites you over at 11pm for a glass of wine, you try not to sound too eager with your yes (even though you are). “Great,” I managed to push out. “I parked right out in the front.”

On the short ride to Jaina’s place, I made sure to ask a series of questions I thought were important to determine whether she was safe or crazy. I learned that she was 23 and working at a bank near her place. She liked Radiohead (obviously) and jazz music, but definitely wasn’t a music snob. She was a vegetarian and openly ranted about how it was wrong for us to eat animals, so for the car ride (at least as far as she was concerned), I was not a meat eater.

“You can just park here.” She pointed ahead. “I live right there. Can you see?”

I leaned over on her side to get a better view. I could feel her breath against my cheek. “I think so.”

She turned my face towards her and kissed me. “Sorry,” she apologized. “I just had to. You have cute cheeks.”

“They’re chubby.”

“No—cute.” We got out of the car and I followed her to the front of an off-white two story house behind a tall stone wall. She grabbed my hand and led me down a stone pathway along the side of the house. “I live in the bottom unit,” she whispered. “Old people live above me, so shhh.” To get to her entrance, we had to push tree branches out of our way, making it felt like we were going to a child’s secret hiding place.

“I don’t normally do this,” she said, digging in her purse for her keys. “You know, invite someone over like this. This isn’t me. But something about our conversation back at the bookstore—I don’t know.” She had a dreamy look in her eyes. We were both high off Radiohead and the movie-like possibility of falling in love (or getting laid) was pleasantly overwhelming. I added, “I don’t normally drive home people I barely know.”

“…And come in for a glass of wine,” she finished. “Possibly more.” She said the last part quietly, but I still heard her.

Her place was tiny, but well kept. There was a small couch and TV in her living room and a glass case filled with animal figurines in a variety of poses.

She dropped her purse on the floor next to the couch and headed into her narrow kitchen. “Red or white?”

“Red, please.”

“Thanks again for the ride,” she said, holding two half full glasses of dark red wine. She handed me a glass and then took a sip of her own. “Did you see my collection?” she pointed with her glass.

I took a long sip. “I did. It’s really cool. I love animals.” It was kind of a lie. I mean, I do love animals, I just prefer mine to stand larger than two inches and not be made of glass.

“Really?” she seemed excited. I felt bad for a moment, but it didn’t last long because she soon kissed me with the same kind of passion I saw her in eyes back at the bookstore and I was gone.

When we finally came up for air, our glasses were empty and my jacket was thrown to the floor. She pulled away and stood up, fixing her long hair. “Sorry, I just want to change into something more comfortable. I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

“Sure, of course.” There is a moment in any romantic encounter when you realize you’re about to have sex. The question you’ve been asking through body language all night has finally been answered and you feel elated.

“I’m a little furry,” she warned, closing the bathroom door behind her.

“It’s fine,” I called out. “No big deal.”

“Do you want to yank on my tail?” she teased.

I thought it might be some mainland slang for ass. “Yeah. Get out here.”

The door flung open to reveal Jaina posing in what I later realized was a gigantic squirrel costume. She was clearly horny, grabbing at herself like some kind of wild—well—animal. It looked like a mutant woodland creature had devoured Jaina and she was trying to get back out through its mouth.

“Holy fuck!” I blurted out, nearly falling off the couch.

She came running to my aid, revealing her perky pink nipples through two strategically placed holes on her roadkill horny suit. “Are you okay?”

Her left nipple was staring at me like some weird animal udder. “Uh…yeah. Fine. I’m fine! Just clumsy.”

She rubbed her hands against the sides of her costume, as if to calm herself. “You’re weirded out, aren’t you?”

I lied. “No, no. Not at all. Everything is fine. You’re beautiful. It must be the wine.” I scooted closer to her on the couch and kissed her. I had to. When a pretty girl in a full-body woodland creature costume feels insecure, you can’t help but give in and reassure her. I’m a sap.

There weren’t many places to touch that didn’t feel like a shag carpet. I rested my hand on her thigh at one point and startled myself when I felt thick fur. She was a good kisser, although I’ve never kissed a grown woman in a reject Disney character costume before. She pulled my body into hers and let out this high pitched howl, sounding like an ambulance on crack.

Startled, I immediately broke away. “Did I do something wrong?”

She reached out for me. “No, not at all. It was a good sound. You’re a good kisser.”

All these random thoughts raced through my head: Did her costume have another strategically placed hole three feet lower than the two for her breasts? Was the sound I heard earlier a mating call? Was this considered beastiality? Were my friends going to call me Squirrel-fucker later?

I pulled away. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I have to go. I think the alcohol is making me loopy.”

“Then you should just lie down,” she explained. “You’ll feel better.”

I kissed her cheek. “Thank you for everything. Good night.”

She didn’t beg me to stay and honestly I don’t think I deserved to. She quietly closed the door behind me and I heard that weird howl again.

While I was walking to my car, I saw a hard pile of dog shit near the mailbox. I felt bad, but I wondered if it was actually squirrel shit instead before driving home alone.