Alright, I finally remembered that I still have a website to run.
In the three-day long weekend, I went to Hawaii with my pal Martin, who did a terrible job maintaining his relationship with his ex-girlfriend (I think he fucked another female during winter break back in China). This trip was supposed to be me, the third wheel, and my pal with his girl. A few days after the trip is settled and arranged, Martin called me that he and his girl broke up over some *not-to-be-conveniently-disclosed* reasons (refer back to the parenthesized above), and I shall split the cost with him now since the airfare was not particularly refundable (I got the fucking taxes back). Okay, McDonald’s for the rest of the month then, easy for me. We went on and discover the state that is full of Japanese.
Given the short time I had, flying from Santa Barbara to Los Angles was the only choice, and United monopolized the route
By the time we arrived at The Laylow it was after minuit. We were both hungry since unlike the communists’ airline, AA does not have complimentary meal. Martin said IHOP (IHOb at the time) and after we sat down he looked at the menu said: “this is too expensive, McDonald’s instead.” Then why the fuck you said it in the first place to here?
Lazy Martin’s ass did not want to leave the bed at 9 and I have to use some Asian Tiger Mom’s secret weapon to force him up. We had complimentary breakfast that came with my Marriott Platinum status (pure flex), found a Zipcar and drove north.
Some poultry awaits the fate of becoming Nuggets; but now they can have fun
We walked to the rocky beach at the North Shore, nothing fancy. Martin though clearly inquisitive about the crabs and small fishes lived between the rocks.
Returned the Zipcar, walked back to the hotel, and went to sleepy-town.
We spent the morning of the second day in the Waikiki beach. Too many people there, and there was no proper kayak renting so we have to cope with a paddle board. In the afternoon, since I had heard that the Diamond Head is a must, we did some hiking there.
I can see people’s frustrations with little wave to surf from here
Third day is the trip back home. At the airport’s Starbucks I asked the barista for water and she spelt my name as dumbass in Japanese.
Yeah the barista was probably being told aho a lot that she thought this is a common Japanese name
I had to get back to Santa Barbara in sunglasses because of what the picture on the very top depict; and Martin, well Martin would have to live in a bit of sorrow after the dopamine shot fades away (No he would not, he didn’t give a shit about the girl, that’s Martin).