I’m sick. It’s literally the first week of school, and I am ridden with infection–a walking, talking, breathing 24-hour phlegm factory. All this phlegm has gotten me really curious as to how phlegm and mucus come about in the body… but I’ll save that Google search for later.
Crochet top — Marshall’s; yellow bikini — Walmart; destroyed denim cutoffs — Forever21; fringe sandals — Minnetonka; sunnies — Free People; backdrop — Waimea Beach, HI
Crochet tops are bomb because it’s like you’re naked. Hawaii is bomb. The shaved ice I got in this outfit is bomb (Matsumoto’s on the Northshore–WITH ice cream!!!!!). Phlegm, however, is not bomb.
Brb, while I get up all on my cherry-flavoured Benylin Extra Strength lean..
In love with Hawaii. In love with the beaches, the people, the food, the weather, the music, and even the drivers (forreal though–you can cut someone off and they’d just let you without honking. I think Hawaii driving life is my kinda life..) Not to perpetuate any stereotypes, but island life is just incredibly chill. Even though Jason threw up on the flight there (complimentary mai tai’s on the plane, who knew?), everything was amaze.
The people we stayed with were locals and unbelievably at ease in every situation. There could’ve been an earthquake, and they would’ve been like, “Oh, okay. Sure. It happens.” They even left us for a couple of days with the house to ourselves.
At the beginning of our visit, they told us there was no need to lock the front door, but when they went away, Jason and I thought it was probably a good idea to do so. Et quelle surprise, the door isn’t even capable of locking! I don’t know about y’all, but I grew up East Van, and there is no way in hell we would ever leave our front door unlocked. Pretty sure I’ve gotten yelled at a few times for accidentally leaving the door unlocked while rushing out of the house..
One day our host told us the boogie boards were in the garage, so Jason and I were looking for them. When we couldn’t find them, our host came down himself, and when he couldn’t find them, he just said, “Oh. Somebody must’ve Hawaiian borrowed them.”
Oh. Somebody must’ve Hawaiian borrowed them.
Our hosts’ house was dope. On a plantation, complete with a mango tree, four hens that laid eggs every morning, an outdoor hot tub and shower, twinkly lights at night, and the lovely sound of water coursing down rocks.
Literally the prettiest thing at night, combined with an epic view. There were lizards, giant cockroaches, and other giant bugs but it all added to the island life, in some way or another..
And obvs, Jason and I made it a priority to eat everything on the island.
I actually hate papayas because they have that unnatural orange shade to them (blegh), and the seeds look like caviar.. but the papayas in Hawaii are bomb. Carmen’s boyfriend pulled one out of his bag when we went to Lanikai beach. An extremely resourceful man, he is..
Like true Canadians, we thought malasadas would be timbit-sized because our hosts described them as “hole-less donuts,” but no. Really no–they were the size of my hand and we ordered four after having a Hawaiian-sized (somewhat synonymous with American-sized) dinner at Rainbow Drive Inn. The poke pictured next to the malasadas was only FIVE DOLLARS. I’ll never forget that poke sauce they use to marinate the sashimi..
There’s definitely so much more to write! But more later 🙂