Holiday overload can be pretty flocking annoying

Every year ladies who channel Martha (as in Stewart, as in annoyingly creative with ribbon and fine linen) get that wild eye look right after Thanksgiving. They know that once the turkey is history and the pumpkin pie has settled on their hips and thighs, it’s time to Deck the Halls with all manner of holiday fancy. These gals of the gift wrap get all shades of excited with a strategically placed snowman or welcoming Santa. The blinking lights, the sparkling garland, and let’s not even touch those glass balls.

Before you peg me a Scrooge, let’s remember that Christmas is about Christ. I can take a few of the annoying accoutrements that come with the season, but I draw the line at taking Christ out of Christmas and substituting Winter Wonderland scenes as the main attraction.

So it was with great trepidation that I faced the whirlwind of what is the Office Holiday Decorating Team. Armed with shiny fabric and wire ribbons and enough hanging balls to rival a NFL locker room, these Divas of Decor unleash a torrent of holiday tchotkes in and around my work area. It’s like the Home Department of a Ross Store exploded in our lobby.

Someone puts on a Christmas CD to set the mood. When Dean Martin starts singing, “Let it Snow! Let it Snow! Let it Snow!” I think, “In Hawaii? Yeah right Dino, when pigs fly!”

The Christmas tree is adorned with tasteful and elegant ribbons and color coordinated ornaments. (The handmade ornaments staff created over the years have mysteriously disappeared.) The simple red felt tree skirt has been replaced with a gold crushed velvet wrap. There is ominous talk of placing a large Santa right outside my CUBE. “Target practice!” I muse in my retaliation scenario. And I swear if those lights strung on my CUBE walls start blinking, I will have a seizure and die.

One of the ladies microwaves a gingerbread cookie and the smell wafts into the lobby. The Decorating Team stops, sniffs the air, and sighs – so deeply satisfied by the complete holiday sensory experience.

So for the next few weeks I am surrounded by glitter, tiny glowing lights, fake snow, and an abundance of holiday swag. I think I can probably handle this, but if someone pops their head in my CUBE one more time and says, “Ho! Ho! Ho!” my retort will be, “Who you calling a ho?” Tis the season, after all.

Aloha, my Lesley

In a few days, dear friend Lesley Makekau will be off to Orlando, Florida. No, she’s not going on a Disney World vacation, she’ll be in training for her new job as CUNA Mutual Group sales executive. No longer a veteran Hawaii Credit Union League employee (27 years is a lifetime for some) my good friend is embarking on a whole new adventure. To say I am very sad to see her leave is an epic understatement.

Lesley Frost started working at the League as its receptionist-clerk typist in 1983. In the nearly three decades that followed, she became Lesley Makekau and successfully worked as a supply/purchasing agent, business relations specialist, and member relations officer. Whenever she faced the challenges of a new job description, she rose above obstacles with wisdom and a great sense of humor. “I’m a duck,” she would say when things got hectic. “I just let it roll off my back!” We all admired her duck-like qualities and would often quack our approval.

Lesley’s keen intelligence was demonstrated in the fact she graduated from Western CUNA Management School (WCMS) with “High Honors”. She was also among those inducted into the Academic Hall of Fame from the 46th session of WCMS held July 15-27, 2007 at Pomona College in California.

On a personal note, I am saying so long (but not goodbye) to a dear friend who has been a part of my life for 20 years. When you’ve known someone for so long and share the same warped sense of humor, it makes the worst work day a bit more bearable. For an entire year, Lesley used to read me The Joke of The Day off her desk calendar. She loved to involve anyone in the lunchroom with the trivia quizzes from the daily newspaper. We would burst into song at the mention of a single word or if a phrase reminded us of a show tune. I remember when Lesley wanted me to name my daughter “Wai Pei”. She explained, “So your daughter would be Why Pay Moore!”

Then there was this often repeated exchange:
Me: “Hullo…”
Lesley: “Welcome to Draw Like a Pig!”
I don’t really remember where that came from, but it stuck with us all these years and still makes us laugh.

When I first came to the League I told Lesley I wasn’t going to stay very long. She laughed at me every time I said in frustration, “This will be my last annual convention!” She would reply, “You just added five more years to your life at the League!” How ironic then that my friend Lesley, the one person I thought would never leave the League has taken another career path. I’m glad she’s still in the credit union movement and I know she will be an awesome addition to the CUNA Mutual staff in Hawaii. I know we’ll see Lesley at the annual conventions, although she will be inside an exhibit booth instead of assisting in the entire exhibit area. We’ll probably see her every once in awhile when CUNA Mutual staff attends League board meetings. And when she stops by to say, “Hullo…” I will reply, “Welcome to Draw Like a Pig!” It will be like old times.

Waiting for election is like passing a kidney stone

In four short days, all of this will be over. Those ubiquitous political signs will no longer ugly-up every fence, wall, and slow moving animal in our fine State. The snarky campaign ads (paid for without the express consent of any candidate) by vaguely named organizations will no longer clutter the TV landscape. Most importantly, those sign wavers will take their “wave-point-shaka-repeat” routines off our city’s busiest medians and intersections.

I’ve seen all sorts of sign waving folks this political season, ranging from the hyper-enthusiastic to the uber-apathetic. There was the multi-tasker who texted with one hand, steadied the sign with his elbow, and half-assed waved with his other hand. Never once did he look up. There was the guy who didn’t actually wear the candidate’s requisite white T-shirt. No, he simply draped the shirt over his torso signifying either his fear of commitment to the candidate or his rebellion against this sign waving punishment. Then there was the cute, elderly Asian couple who stood at one of the busiest intersections in Kaneohe every morning and evening, rain or shine. I surmised they were doing this for their grandson, the candidate who proudly proclaimed his Japanese middle name and Filipino surname on every one of his signs. His strategy? Target your racial demographics and then let Baachan and Jiisan do the grunt work.

Amid all the posturing and prognosticating, the best political commentary I ever heard came from my son Alex a few years ago. We were driving past a large banner touting a Republican candidate, when my then-five year old said to me, “Look Mommy! Jerry Coffee is rated R!" Indeed, politics in this town is sometimes for mature audiences only.

Aloha, Mikey

WHEN YOU WORK with someone for nearly two decades, it’s hard to imagine him not being in the office anymore. When our Legislative and Regulatory Affairs Manager Michael Leach announced his retirement a few months ago, I immediately assumed the Cleopatra persona and became “Queen of Denial”. No way! Michael is not going anywhere! What are we going to do without him?

Michael Leach was hired by the Hawaii Credit Union League in late 1990, just a few months after I came on board. In the beginning, Michael was a conundrum to me—so intelligent, so insightful, yet so confusing that at times I had to take a break from his lengthy musing just to decipher the message. Some of us would jokingly tell Michael to “land the plane!” when his spoken thoughts would endlessly “circle the airport”.

He was such a good sport and took it all in stride. We all loved his self-deprecating humor. Recently I overheard him take the blame for something that wasn’t his fault. I gently chided him for bearing this unfounded guilt, to which he quipped, “I’m a Catholic and a male—I can’t help it!” I nearly fell off my chair laughing. That was just so Michael!

My favorite Michael story happened over a decade ago when he showed up at the office with three very tiny kittens. The mama cat abandoned the kittens and Michael, hearing their faint cries, came to their rescue. I vividly remember my co-workers taking turns bottle feeding those little kittens in Michael’s office. Of course, the cats became a part of Michael’s family. More recently, Michael stopped his car on a busy street to rescue a kitten in danger of becoming road kill. That cat, too, is now part of Michael’s household.

As head of the Hawaii Credit Union League’s governmental affairs effort, Michael could navigate the often murky waters of the political arena, whether it was at the state Capitol or in our nation’s Capitol. His analytical mind could make sense of convoluted legislation and his diplomacy allowed him to deal with myriad egos and personalities. Like a good shepherd, Michael took excellent care of the Hawaii credit union representatives who made the annual trek to Washington D.C. for the CUNA Governmental Affairs Conference (GAC). When I made my first visit to D.C. for the 2008 CUNA GAC, I felt very secure knowing I could just follow Michael around unfamiliar airports and the D.C. metro system and get to our destination safely.

Those of us who knew Michael personally saw a devoted husband, son, nephew, and friend. For a time, Michael took care of his elderly aunt and uncle—taking them to doctor appointments and on trips to the mainland to visit relatives. In recent years, Michael has spent his time outside of the office caring for his ailing mother, which was a big part of his decision to retire. Though intellectually we knew caring for his mom full-time was the right thing to do, we selfishly wanted to keep him here.

League staff, along with retired staff and friends celebrated Michael’s 60th birthday on July 20 with a birthday/retirement office party. After gorging ourselves on a wonderful array of mostly homemade dishes, I expected Michael to “circle the airport” with a long farewell speech. It wasn’t that I minded so much, but I didn’t want to end up a teary-eyed mess with raccoon eyes and a red nose. To my surprise, Michael kept it brief with a simple, heartfelt thank-you to everyone. I think it then dawned on all of us that, after nearly 20 years, Michael finally “landed the plane” and was about to embark on a whole new journey. He will surely be missed.

Middle aged skin care requires scientific acumen

I recently observed my 49th birthday. Since I ventured over to the dark side of 45, I stopped celebrating birthdays. And quite honestly, I often forget when my birthday comes and goes.

This year, I spent 16 hours of my birthday traveling from Corning, New York back home to Honolulu. I hoped that passing through three time zones would reverse the signs of aging, but life can be so unkind.

At my age, something as basic as taking care of my skin has become a challenge. Twenty-five years ago, I merely washed my face and was ready to go. Now I have a cleansing ritual that involves corrective serums, antioxidant rich moisturizers, and assorted concoctions that fight the aging effects of "free radicals". I'm not sure what "free radicals" are, but I'm told they are bad and must be stopped at all cost! And that cost usually means $50 for 1.5 ounces of age-defying night cream.

It takes a Ph.D in chemistry to understand how to keep my skin evenly toned, appropriately lifted, and dewy fresh. A recent column in Oprah magazine offered up this advice to those of us seeking youthful skin.

"Don't apply a retinoid in the morning; the sun will deactivate it. And don't use a glycolic acid serum or moisturizer at the same time you're using a hydroquinone lightening cream, vitamin C serum, or retinoid, because the glycolic acid will deactivate them."

Huh? All of this makes me tired. It makes me want to take a nap. Naps are now one of my best friends. But that's a whole other issue altogether.

Body shaping jeans boast miracle making transformation! Yeah, right.

It irks me that creators of "slimming jeans" want you to believe you will look a full size smaller just by wearing these manufactured miracle makers. Duh-uh!

One such brand claims its "tummy control panel" will smooth and flatten your problem belly area. News flash: If you displace 10 pounds of belly fat using an industrial strength spandex/denim blend, that fat has to go somewhere else. Most likely it will push that load upward, giving you a less-than-attractive third chin. Not a good look on anyone, I'm afraid. And then there are those jeans that claim to give your butt an added lift. I'm sorry, but my ass was not meant to hang over my waistband like an overflowing ice cream cone. I give kudos to one body-shaping jeans brand, though. These jeans simply repositioned the side seams giving the illusion of narrower hips. I appreciate the honesty here, though not the $100 price tag.

What really bothers me is the ads for these jeans feature skinny models. Hello? A size zero woman does not need a power mesh panty to smooth problem areas. Let's see a plus size gal wearing these jeans for a little truth in advertising, shall we? Of course that will never happen. Nobody wants to see a 200 pound woman with a faux third chin and butt overflowing her waistband. She may look like a the Michelin Man after a week-long binge, but at least her $100 jeans will look fabulous.

Job Performance Evaluation Anxiety Rears Its Ugly Head

Every year as we approach the summer a dark, yet familiar dread hangs over the CUBE Farm. The fiscal year is coming to an end and I and my fellow CUBE dwellers know what that means: Job Performance Evaluations! (Insert ominous music here.)

I have nothing against job performance evaluations, but we have such a convoluted evaluation process in our organization. The first part of the torture includes a self-evaluation. It takes me half a day to rate my specific job duties and include a justification with each "above average" rating I give myself. And quite honestly, I can be very well above average at times. (Insert smirk here.) Then I have to compare it to last years's rating and do a mini essay on what I have accomplished and what needs improvement. Oh, and I did I mention that, despite all of the effort, there are no raises in the forecast due to budgetary constraints that will continue well into the next century?

If there was no blood shed over the year, I can honestly give myself a good job performance evaluation. I mean, I had ample reason to maim and mutilate over the last 12 months, but restrained myself admirably.

Most of the performance evaluation questions cause involuntary eye rolling. For example: "What are the employee’s strongest qualifications?" My Inner Wise Ass wants to scream, "I've lasted 20 years in this joint! I deserve a freaking medal!" Another question asks: "What experience should the employee gain to be more qualified for increased responsibilities? I have to fight the temptation to answer: "The ability to read minds and pull miracles out of thin air." Yet another lame-oh question on self evaluation: What progress was made on personal growth objectives? My smarty butt answer: "None. Wanted to grow vertically, but ended up with uncontrolled horizontal growth."

I vote for a simpler job performance evaluation. Let's just say I was a great employee and deserve a double digit raise. Oh wait, I work for a nonprofit. Never mind.

Laughter brings healing to overburdened Ubermom

I just got through laughing hysterically with my kids. The past few weeks (or even months) in Kingdom of Parenthood, have been very rough. So it was great to be laughing hysterically with my kids rather than screaming hysterically at them.

Having a nearly 14-year old son and a 10-going-on 20-year old daughter sometimes sucks the very life out of me. Bad hair days and bad attitudes nearly every day leave me breathless and wondering what happened to the sweet little babies I carried around many moons ago. Just this past week I've been burdened by once stellar grades going down the toilet as 14 is now distracted by a girlfriend and social media overload. And speaking of toilets, 10 finds it necessary to use mine since her commode is "too stinky" to use. It doesn't compute that one of her jobs is to clean the bathroom. To quote one of her favorite retorts, "HELLO?!"

But tonight God gave me a sweet gift that brought bright rays of sunshine to the darkness of recent days. My gracious Lord and Savior revealed to me and reminded me of the love He has given our family. And it all started with some silly comment 14 said that sent 10 and me into fits of uncontrollable laughter. It didn't really matter what we were laughing about, we laughed so hard and so loud and so long and it was absolutely energizing. The silliness lasted maybe 15 or 20 minutes, but it was like manna refreshing my soul. My son even recorded some of this zaniness on his cell phone and saved it as his ring tone. For a few wonderful minutes, there was none of 14's sullen mood, none of 10's defiance - it was just joyous, raucous laughter.

I'm sure the moodiness and rebellion will return again. And I'm just as guilty of PMS induced behavior, no matter what time of the month. But for tonight, my heart is content knowing that the love God has given this family will not be shaken by the storms of life. A family that laughs together loves together.

Teen angst hits the heart and the soul of Ubermom

Lately I've been crying myself to sleep thinking about the sweet natured little boy who used to be my son. "He's such a good baby!" was the comment I heard most about my son when he was an infant. "He's so easy going" was another. Loving, affectionate, generous with hugs and outbursts of "I love you", my boy, though not perfect, was usually a joy to have around.

In the past year, someone stole my sweet baby boy and replaced him with a tall, sullen, and at times rude young man. Sometimes this lanky figure dressed all in black looks somewhat familiar, though it's hard to tell since he insists on wearing his hair over his eyes. Instead of a cheerful "Hi Mommy!" I'm lucky to get a grunt in passing. Excited monologues detailing his day at school have been replaced with monosyllabic answers, grudgingly shared only if I am persistent. There are those rare occasions when my son actually feels like chatting and we can share a laugh like old times. He inherited a great sense of humor and I love when it breaks through the pervasive teen angst. But a few hours later, the door is slammed before I can enter his room to say goodnight and my heart sinks again.

Remembering my own abhorrent behavior as a teen, I can't help but feel this phase in my life is some sort of cosmic retribution. Or as my mom often tells me, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree." Really comforting, mom.

Has anyone developed a cure for teenage attitude? I am ready to make my bulk purchase order. Pills, liquid, blunt force trauma - I'll take any form. Seriously. Anyone?

The eyes have it. And want to give it back.

As an editor of a trade newsletter I have to review legal and compliance articles for our monthly publication. These articles are seldom fun to read. And since I don’t write these articles, it is a chore to slog through words that are only found in legal dictionaries and decipher enough acronyms to fill an entire gallon of alphabet soup.

Lawyers and those who dwell in regulatory purgatory seem to relish the use of words and phrases known only to those of the same breed. It’s like a secret language they share and are fiercely protective of their right to confuse common folk like me with their $64 mil words.

In recent months, my right eye has been wholly uncooperative in the proof reading process. Blurry vision in that eye forces me to cock my head at odd angles in order to focus. Two ophthalmologists are stumped by the fact that a cataract has formed in my right eye. Usually affecting those who qualify for senior citizen discounts, cataracts are not very common in people my age. It’s nice to be acknowledged as “too young” though it would have been better if the reasons were flawless skin or tight abs, not an untimely eye affliction. (For the record, I have neither flawless skin nor tight abs.)

This leads me back to proofreading legal and compliance articles. I have to conclude that this arduous task is what ultimately caused my right eye to cloud up. From a medical standpoint, I am too young to have a cataract. I have not suffered trauma to my eye recently. (Getting bashed in the face with a door 20 years ago by an angry ex-husband does not count.) I am very good about wearing sunglasses and my regular glasses are UV protected. So it stands to reason that compliance and legal articles cause cataracts in unsuspecting editors. All the run-on sentences, multi-syllable words, and cryptic abbreviations are hazardous to your optical well-being. And let’s not forget those annoying symbols. Is § really a necessary part of our language? Yes, it is which makes it even more irritating.

My cataract surgery takes place in early March. Though I have to check into a hospital, they will let me go home after the procedure and I am deemed lucid enough to walk out the door. I’m sure I’ll be forced to wear one those tacky hospital gowns that never quite cover your behind. Local anesthesia is all I’ll need says my doctor, though I tried my best to negotiate for general anesthesia, which is denied. I may get some back up drugs, but I must be awake for the procedure.

“Don’t worry,” my doctor reassures me. “It’s a fun surgery!” Maybe for him, but invasive medical procedures are not high on my list of fun things to do. But I give my doctor credit for enjoying his work.

Secrets behind the fast food counter

For months, my teen son has talked about a secret menu at Jamba Juice. The inner cynic in me dismissed my son's talk as urban legend. Frustrated, teen son directed me to a Google search that uncovered secret menus, not only at Jamba Juice, but Starbucks and MacDonalds. Suddenly, I was thrust into a gustatory Da Vinci Code mystery that needed investigating.

Not wanting to appear foolish at the counter, I made sure I read up on these secret menus. Sour Patch Kids, Apple Pie, White Gummy Bears, and some chocolate concoction that came with a disclaimer were at one point regular Jamba Juice items. But decision makers at the health-conscious smoothie business decided to pull the high calorie items off the menu. The recipes were kept "under the table" for those willing to risk a diabetic coma.

Starbucks' secret menu was less about the product type and more about how much more money the coffee behemoth can French press out of customers. One "secret" at Starbucks is the "short" size cup. The regular menu items are served up in sizes "Tall", "Grande", and "Venti". However, those who know about the secret menu can order their coffee "short" and save. Of course, Starbucks doesn't want everyone short-ordering their over-priced coffee drinks, so mums the word.

MacDonald's secret menu seems to be the fast food giant's way of serving high fat fare without attracting the attention of the Food Police. Did you know you can order biscuits and gravy during the breakfast hours? Or how about substituting the regular hamburger patties in the Big Mac with quarter pound patties? And would you like fries with that coronary?

Curiosity got the best of me, so the Hubs and I took the rugrats to Jamba Juice today to test the validity of the secret menu. I wasn't sure what level of security clearance was needed to access the secret menu, but I was not going to stand for a wand search and my belt and shoes were going to stay on, thank you very much. The first order attempt was met with confusion at the counter. Sour Patch Kids and Apple Pie apparently were not made at this location. White Gummy Bear and Chocolate Covered Strawberry, however, made the cut. The young man at the counter chuckled when we told him about the secret menu items we found on the Internet. He even offered to make whatever secret menu items came with recipes next time we visited.

I wonder what other secret menus lurk behind fast food counters. It is a mystery worth unwrapping.

Clueless people debunk theory of evolution

I try not to let my inner cynic rear its ugly head too often. As a God fearing woman, I have to remind myself that we are all God's creation - some more refined than others - but the Lord loves us all.

In the past week, I've come across people who have truly tested my "What-Would-Jesus-Do?" resolve to be patient, loving, and understanding. These encounters convinced me that clueless people - especially those who get mad when they realize how clueless they are - totally debunk the theory of evolution. Clearly, if the theory was true, these sorry souls would have died off millenniums ago.

My first encounter was more sad and funny in an ironic sort of way. A sweaty young man wandered into my office, sporting dreadlocks, smudgy clothes, and a scent that was less than fresh. Confused, he indicated he wanted a job with the Census office, couldn't locate the building, but came in because my office address was close.

"What's the address?" I ask. "Let me Google Map it"

"It's 1650 S. King Street," he replies.

I Google Map the address. It points to the cross walk in front of our building. Thinking I'm not seeing a clear enough view, I switch to satellite and sure enough, the end point of 1650 S. King Street lands right on that cross walk.

The confused young man with questionable hygiene exits even more befuddled than before. My curiosity piqued, I call the local Census office only to discover the actual address is 1560 S. Beretania Street. I also learn census takers are paid $17 per hour, which probably piqued the young man's interest. Unfortunately, if this young man is dyslexic and illiterate, he may not be the best candidate for the job.

My next encounter was a bit more irritating as it happens more times than necessary. As a trade association representing credit unions, many people mistakenly call our office thinking we are their credit union. Granted many credit union names begin with "Hawaii" but our organization's moniker includes the word "League" which, to me, differentiates us enough. Unless, you are terminally clueless.

This time, a woman calls and says, "I want you to check my account balance!" Sensing an attitude issue, I muster up my polite voice so I can sweetly reply, "Excuse me?"

"Check the balance in my account!"

Now my inner bitch is awakened. It takes all my strength not to snap back. Instead, I remain polite. "Oh, I'm sorry, we are not a credit union. Which credit union are you looking for?"

Here's where the realization that something clueless has occurred causes the clueless one to get a bit testy.

"I'm calling Hawaii Central. That's my credit union," she retorts.

"Let me give you the number," I offer.

"Never mind, I have it!" Click!

I swear, calls like this happens at least a couple of times a day. It amazes me that some people have no idea where their money is deposited. Sometimes, people are embarrassed and apologetic and I have no problem helping them located their credit union. But people like Ms. Testy make me want to play along and say, "Oh, I'm sorry. All the funds were withdrawn and that account has been closed."

Definitely NOT what Jesus would do.

The Teen Years - Part 1: The Girlfriend

I had my suspicions for weeks. The whispered phone calls. The endless g-chats and Facebook posts. All the signs were there, but wasn't sure I was ready to face the inevitable. But it's now official. My son has a girlfriend.

Last night I was playing The Game of Life with my 10 year old daughter and her dad. Well, I was actually losing The Game of Life with over $200,000 in debt, but that's a whole other issue. Suddenly, my 13 year old son enters the room full of nervous energy.

"Mom, come..."
"Why, what's wrong?"

"Just come, I wanna show you...something."

I followed my son to the TV room where he plants himself in front of the computer for more hours than I'd like.

"Here," he says quickly. "She wants to chat with you." My son quickly types in "Here's my mommy!" and dashes off to take a shower.

The Girl! I knew it! Now I can find out what's really going on! Never one to mince words, I type, "Are you guys BF and GF?"

"Yes. I wanted him to tell you, but he was scared, I guess."

That surprised me since my son always told me what was on his mind. In fact, I used to tease him about never having an unspoken thought. Now he was afraid to tell me about a girlfriend? Teenage boys should come with an owner's manual.

A few months ago I asked my son if he would tell me when he had a girlfriend. His quick affirmation was comforting. My boy would not withhold information, I thought. So when I found out - through the girlfriend no less - that there was love in the air, it was a bit disheartening.

To his credit, my son indicated this BF/GF status was established less than a week prior, so it wasn't like he was actually withholding information. And he did let me chat with the girl and was willing to let her break the news to me.

"As a parent, I think you should know." said this obviously intelligent girl. She's smart enough to know the importance of being nice to your boyfriend's mom.

I breathe a sigh of relief. This girl doesn't appear to be one of those giggly, socially incapacitated teens that infest the malls. I find myself chatting online with a most delightful girl. Bright, polite, sweet, and apparently enamored with my son.

That night, I had a hard time falling asleep. I keep remembering my son as a baby - cute, chubby, happy, and mommy's little guy. Then it hit me. I was no longer Alpha Female in my son's life. I felt sad.

"They always come back to Mama," my friend reassures me today. She has two teens of her own, so I assume she knows from experience.

It's time to shift the Mom Gears again. No longer holding his hand, I know I have to let my son find his way through this adventure called adolescence. But I know I will always be here whenever he needs some mom time. And I look forward to that.

Look Ma! Uncle Bobby's on da Internet!

It’s Wednesday! Time for another round of, “Look Ma! All these drunks got busted last week!”

http://www.honolulupd.org/traffic/OVUII/arrestees.htm

Today’s highlights: Angelina MENDOZA looks like she’s thinking, “Whaaa? Me drunk? Drink no neva I went!” Naoro CARELESS lived up to his name by driving drunk and getting caught. And someone needs to tell Jade R. GOIN, “This is ...a mug shot! Not your chance to be American’s Next Top Model!”


Every week I look forward to what is probably becoming a favorite reality show in our fair city. On Wednesdays at 10:00am the Honolulu Police Department posts its drunk driver arrests from the past week. It's a voyeuristic adventure into the lives of those dumb enough to drive drunk and get caught. Check it out. You may see someone you know!