It's Been a Long While, Pulelehua

THURSDAY, MAY 12, 2011

Night

After checking Fry's off of Brokaw for what ended up being a replacement nunchuk (nope not the Bruce Lee kind, monkey) I took a drive to my Cousin's place for chill times and good talk. I slip into the curbs on the opposite side of the street and check the window for the light on inside; I tend to drop by without notice and such an interruption occasionally ends up with a chipper me and a sleepy cousin. Oh cool? Not so cool. Try not doing that, Lackman. But the light is on. Woohoo!!

Foot out. And then the other. Cane out yeah I brought the collared and brass tipped birchwood cheapo-bobo with hair bands on the handle just in case, ya know? Watch that fedora'd head when coming out - wouldn't want to knock me hat loose with my long hair flying every-freakin'-where on the street where my Cousin and her significant other be. Ding dong! The doorbell sounds as I eyeball the door knob then the peephole then the door knob then the kitchen window then the doorknob again. The light is open - I think - so they've gotta be inside, right?

Yup.

"Come in!" my Cousin says.

I turn the doorknob that now has my eyes splat all over it and the eyes splat back into my head. From there I look up to see the who's who.

And it's a surprise.

A rather nice one too.

I stand stunned as if hit by heavyweight contender. Except the shock isn't from fist-to-face pain, nope, the shock is from an intense joy at seeing the wonder before me. Whapak!! It takes wicked effort for me to not jump in celebration and what's left is a sway. And a smirk. I think? I'm not sure as the only thing in my head is that I don't act a fool in front of the one person that counts most. For inside that living room all couched out chilling were my Cousin, her boyfriend and his nephew. One, just one person sat all lax on the floor with her back towards the door. It is she. Pulelehua, yup. =) She looks over her shoulder and spots the fedora'd, caned, black dressed, blue tied (& vest) oh Lacking I sweating to restrain my giddiness. In her comfort clothing wifebeater and grey-black sweatpants she nonchalantly looks back to a laptop computer on the couch with nary a reaction.

Good.

Round 1.

I survived. Awesome.

Door closed and the doorknob now back outside I sit beside my Cousin and on we chat. Pulelehua sits just 2:00 of where I park myself. The proximity burns but I try to keep cool. Try to, hah. I hope that smirk stayed at the door. Again cousin and I drift into chat about any ol' thing . . .

EXCEPT for the One Wahine Wonder that sits but a few feet away from me. Cousin knows of my own admiration for the isle beaut. So does her brother. Aye? I'd rather they know then they get all weird about my getting all weird around Pulelehua. So it's not spoken about when Cousin and I chat because THAT would be weird. Maybe? Ehh. Dunno. If she knew now it would be just that wouldn't it? A recognition of admiration, one-sided as it may be? =P There are times when Cousin gets into a discussion directly with Pulelehua and I find such moments a most splendid opportunity to get a look or two at her with reason, otherwise I'd go just help myself to ogling her all night and THAT would be weird.

Why would I do such a thing?

I haven't seen her for what seems like 2 years. Yow. To step into this and see Pulelehua is providence and quite honestly I don't know if I'll ever get to see her again and I'd like to, yes. Maybe these moments of seeing sweet her will have to last me for the rest of my life? Oh darn, I just may never see get to see her again. So fly. For now these moments will have to do. And I cherish them.

But we don't talk about that.

The Red Wings are finally wiped off the playoffs list by the members of Team Teal. Go Sharks! The party of 4-and-a-half cheer on the victory in their own little ways. A smile. A silence. The thought of applause. The Wahine Wonder looks over her shoulder, pumps a fist and sighs a "yes!" Pulelehua pulls down and takes off her sweater in talks with her brother about further modifying her left shoulder/arm tribal tattoo. In distinct geometric patterns the dark ink is a biting sight. Every shape and check threaten to keep me at bay with their sharp points. This chick ain't about dainty things. She's not a child of sunshine, nah. She tells her brother of fixing the triangular bits. "It's crooked" she says putting a finger to it. I audibly chuckle. With reason I watch again, I am transfixed at her index digit cush pushing tan & tattooed skin, the indentation running across inked permanence rattling my mind knowing my own touch would commit yeah blood fire.

Woosh.

I keep the cool though.

Round 2.

"Breeeeathe, shit-bird."

"Hoooohhhh."

Ding ding ding!

Pulelehua eventually makes her way to the room at the rear of the house to get her tattoo touched up. This leaves me to chatting with Cousin about many a thing. Not once is the admiration mentioned or hinted or slighted at. We talk on and on.

Pulelehua drifts from out of the hallway shadows and back into the living room. She holds a flatcap which she handles with appreciation. There's also a smile, a smile that holds a cheery innocence that one could only call adorable. As per usual my reactions are not reflected outwardly. Though the carousal rush sprint the brain all that is seen upon my person is a controlled smirk.

It's only on the drive back I realized it would have been terrific to compliment her with the words

"You look good."

To her that would seem to refer singularly to the flatcap hat cha-cha but to me a . . .

general statement. =P

Cousin and Butterfly come to an agreement that it's too small a hat to fit Cousin's big noggin' and thusly the flatcap now belongs to Pulelehua. Away she flutters back into the shadows, flatcap twirling with a smile brighter. Cousin and I go back into our discussion with no mention of the adorable. Minutes later I profess my curiosity in the actuality of getting permanently inked. I make my own way into the shadows all the way to the room at the end of the dark hall. Boyfriend and Pulelehua sit with both their backs turned. With a tattoo needle he makes his way to her exposed arm of distinct tribal patterns. Contact is made but nada reveal of pain is seen or heard. She sits there as if it was kindergarten paint being gently brushed upon her. My mind rolling from the casual, super casual ritual of the tattoo - it is I who almost yelps.

"Wha?! . . ."

I walk away from the scene out of the shadows, back into the living room, back to talking with Cousin where everything, absolutely everything is talked about except . . . =P

With the the tattoo touch-up fini, Pulelehua bids the farewells. A thanks to her brother. A goodbye to Cousin. Like an idiot - on the couch, slumpy idiot - I raise my hand in half-waving "see ya", half -waving "what the fuck am I doing?" From 10 feet away *she scrunches her pretty-ass face (Yes, there's no other way to write it. I tried. This was the best way as it's to the point, isn't it? No fluttery poeticisms can best this.) at me wondering what the hell I'm doing and I'm wondering what the hell I'm doing but she follows through, nods her pretty-ass head (Yeah, this too.) and throws out a "Bye."

I'll take that. Woohoo!!

No formal "hello" but a scrunch-faced "bye" by one fine butterfly? Tremendous! =)

Kah-dum! The door closes with Pulelehua having flown.

I immediately turn to my Cousin and exclaim

"Ohhhh my gosssshhh!!!!"

in a relieved release of the gushingly contained felicity. "I'm soooo glad I dropped by tonight! Soooooooo sooo so glaaad I dropped by tonight" I continue as I roll victim to my own bliss and am caught from falling by jumbo couch cushions. "I know, I know . . ." replies Cousin who is fully aware of the depth of the outpour. Turn that tap on full blast.

Woosh.

I survived. Barely. 'Cause I'm flustered on the couch, hah.

"Ohhh my ohh my" I say with the goofiest look of joy on my face. I continue "I'm sorry but I just had to let go right now" followed by a big exhale as if my breath was held at the moment I walked in and saw the fine one who just seconds ago had flown out the door. "Do you . . . " I say with mischievous concern, "do you think she . . . noticed? I mean her back was turned but she did take a quick glance over her shoulder. Was I smiling, ate?" The trapeze thought occurs to me that I may have been standing with a smile that would bridge the entire Pacific. Continents an ocean apart were connected by sublime revelry in celebration of the Inked Butterfly Stunner. And it, I stood in that doorway unaware of the shine like a complete git.

"Was I smiling?"

"No" replies Cousin. "But your eyes were."

"Ahhhhh!!!" Back into the couch cushions I tumble in hysterics, in limbo, howling at true shine now known! "My eyes were smiling?!? That's infinitely worse! Hah haaaah! . . ." Orbicularis Oculi. It's involuntary. I had no chance, yow. Flash knockout, first round. Was every moment after just a dream?

Bridge.

Pulelehua . . .

it's good to see ya, girl. =P

*note: it was discovered during Cousin conversation everything but 'Hua's vision is 20/20. Makapo Pulelehua.

Pulelehua Moke

Pulelehua Moke

Fly fly butterfly

She's blind butterfly

So fine this butterfly

My kind of butterfly

But she can't see me

She flies freely

This queen wahine

I want to know all the things you like

What interests you what things that make you fly

Pulelehua Moke

An 8 by 5 of butterfly

In gangsta threads the Crip kind

She's looking tough but also fine

I'm kinda scared but lucky I she's blind

And she can't see me

She flies freely

This queen wahine

I want to know all the things you like

What interests you what things that make you fly

Pulelehua Moke

Please don't beat me up

For writing this song

I don't how else to tell ya girl

Keeping Up Appearances

[NOTE: I don't know if I should give you a warning about the crude language included in today's entry. Consider yourself warned. It isn't much but I refuse to change anything on account of the guilty segments losing impact if certain words were lost. Sometimes that's just the way it is. F*ck Yeah!]

[NOTE: The previous F*ck Yeah was completely unnecessary.]

SATURDAY, AUGUST 9, 2008

I am informed that a birthday celebration is to take place at Cataldi Park. It can be easily seen from the freeway going 55. As it approaches the speedy mechanical masses, the park itself ungracefully tapers into a very awkward point; nature's fencer keeping an urban monstrosity at bay. Parry. Parry. Halt.

It is 2 in the afternoon and I play with the idea of making an appearance. It is not often I go out, family gatherings included. Thanks to my recent turn in spirit I am open to the option. The closet opens and I search for what to wear. My closet is packed tighter than a pornstar on a multi-man marathon f*ckfest. This is because 87% of my closet consists of things I won't wear. can't wear, or would rather not wear. Since it's packed so tight, the things I end up wearing are usually wrinkled in some form.

I once again think to myself, "I need to learn how to iron someday."

The clothes I pick doesn't help my "laid back" figure. I mix and match and try another set. This does not help either. It might even be worse. If my mood was cheery and upbeat beforehand, seeing my fat self in fat clothing looking rather fat kicked the mood down tempo.

"Ah screw . . . I won't go to the park."

I go to sleep.


I wake up 3 hours later with no remembrance of a dream. The urge to head over to the park is stronger than ever and I brave the closet once more. This time I find something that might work and go with it. I step outside and am thankful for the sunny but cool day; the trees dancing with the wind reflecting my gratitude. Outside on the porch while thinking of a way to actually get to Cataldi, a biker (sans bike) strolls on up and says,

"Can I borrow your phone? My bike ran out of of gas."

This man is the true biker type. The leather, the facial hair, the works. The calm and pleasant delivery of his question is the only thing which betrays his rough and tough exterior.

"Sure." I say without hesitation.

I grab the phone and he makes a call to his girlfriend, seemingly. The pick-up is confirmed.

He passes back the phone and asks, "Can I have a cigarette or something?"

"Sure."

I pass him the cigarette and a match. He lights the cigarette and passes back the spent match saying, "I don't want to be disrespectful and just drop it, here ya' go."

In the middle of thinking how nice this guy is, he looks straight at me and suddenly says "You know what happened there? You'll see it on the news. They messed up my bike and I'm going to do something about. Get it done right."

Whoa.

With multiple "thanks" for the cigarette and phone, he takes his leave with a stroll just as chill as the one he arrived with.


I previously made a call and found out that the party at the park was over. Sunset parks don't like party people, apparently. The celebration was to continue at the celebrant's home. Knowing this, I was very much ready to take the short walk over there. Luckily, TJ (the brother younger) gave me a lift.

The party arrives. Greetings are thrown around with ease with I, the almost-stranger, picking it up and throwing it back just as freely. I feel good. Chairs and coolers are transferred to the big backyard and the party continues.

People hang out and talk. That's what they do. As a half-man/half-loner, all social scenes are foreign to me and I sit ever lost. I tell this to my youngest brother, J. Norman and he (as social as they come) tells me to just listen in on a group and hear what's going on.

I do so.

I can't catch on. Neither can I relate to what's being said. The only world I know is the world seen through my eyes. Narrow though it maybe, the sucker is on replay and I get all the angles. Maybe not all, but definitely the ones which are horrorshow. That's how I keep myself entertained. To apply this to another person's proclivities is something I have an issue with. I still can't catch on.

I would try to make the attempt to get to know another person but everyone else is holding a conversation with everyone else. I turn on the iPod and have at it with the Deftones' "Saturday Night Wrist." To want to know another person is something of an intimate affair. Common likes and dislikes can go forth without attachment but to get any deeper is a no fly zone.

This must be why I stay in the shallow end of the pool when knowing people.

I reserve the 8 ft. side for the significant other, whomever that may be.

I wonder if this is the way it is with most people.

The night is spent listening to the conversations of others. What I have to contribute is very little and never elevates what's been said. Given the opportunity to listen, I find myself with the "permission to look," so to speak, at those in the current command of any given conversation. This provides an avenue to which I have hardly any discipline: looking at an attractive female . . . comfortably.

Maybe it's the sympathy that the shadows of a backyard evening provide, pacifying faces of their true ambitions, loyalties, and faith. I could suggest that it was perhaps the varying sets of mexican party music that melded and inundated the neighborhood air but it isn't that. It certainly is not for lack of looks, either.

I look at her whenever she speaks, naturally, and I am able to do so with more freedom (of mind) than I thought I had. Is my side of the attraction there? The slightest hint exists but is nothing to take action upon. She undoubtedly is one pretty lass. This is all goes back to the idea of female "configurations," still a topic for another day. Find me another girl like her and maybe I won't be kept in such a state of awe but for now, there she sits.

And I am one lucky bastard.

(How do I insert a stupid giggle in here?)

I am most thankful for the fact that I am able to be comfortable and keep composure around such a fascinating girl. My modus operandi in a situation like this usually consists of: 1 part awkward mess and 2 parts weirdo. Do you know Radiohead's song Creep? My motherf*cking anthem.

(Add another giggle, thanks.)

But not this night.

Do I ever talk to her? "Patience, young grasshopper." I'm not quite there yet.


Jaidyn is my goddaughter and after many months not having seen her she appears later in the night. Shy at first and hiding behind a curtain, she gets the idea that I somehow forgot her.

"That's funny," I say to myself, quietly, "I thought she might have forgotten me."

Her imagination is ever wild and she believes me to be a monster, I tell her, "No. I'm not a monster but I do hide a lot." It isn't long before I am her godfather again and we get into the swing of play along with her little sister, Jazmine. Leaving the conversations and the nice-looking one behind, I get lost in the cheer of two young rapscallions with nothing but positivity on their mind. I think back to a time before my brain decided to have a frown as its manager. It was good. And these kids are good, untouched by the cruelty of a mad, mad world. Childhood can afford to do so.

I try to keep up with the energy that Jaidyn and her little sister bring out. We knock cups over, spin, jump, train, hide, seek and laugh. Lots of laughing. It is a good time indeed. In the moments of rest I manage to acquire, I can't fathom how the people who take care of the J.J. Duo do it every. single. day. I'm only a godfather and can hardly keep up in the very few times I see them in a given year. Whew! They're great.

The night now late, their father calls them into the house for sleep. I wipe my brow one last time. The ambiance of the party itself is now even more calm than before. Two groups are gathered: the birthday celebrant with her peers and everybody else in a tent. I walk into the tent and sit on the couch, the conversations less manic. My comments are more frequent but just as glib.

The night ends quite nicely with my cousin Debra and I speaking about the wonderful world of pro wrestling. Yeah, yeah, don't shoot me. Some people like ballet or modern dance. I watch pro wrestling. It's just like a choreographed dance . . . except with body slams. I could go on and on about the virtues of a worked match but that too will have to be an entry of its own. Debra heartily speaks about her past fandom with the American greats of the 90's to early 2000's. I agree for the most part but also throw out the beauty of the Burning Hammer and its origins. You marks know what I'm talking about. It's an elite land full of Tiger Drivers and Shining Wizards.


On my bed and tired (a good tired), I quickly post something on my blog about this day's experiences and insights being written not now but soon. Although the world hates seeing a fat bastard, I went out and did my best. No, I did not accomplish anything grand or learn secrets that only the privileged few know, but I did go out there and live. Just live. I think to myself, "It's been a good day, hasn't it?"

"Yes it has."