The 2-2 Birthday Tale

This is Murphy's, in Honolulu, Hawaii.


This is me, in a moped helmet, which was lent to me, along with a moped (for the remaining month I was in Hawaii) by this guy:

Isn't he cool?



So, this is the Birthday Tale. Yesterday, I awoke to this:


A perfect, mysterious double rainbow. "What a lovely sign!" I thought, innocently.



I thought about this guy (who is now living happily in France,) and I got ready for the day.

I now work at this place (and thank goodness, I should be getting a paycheck soon), so I dressed in my customary black and whites, hopped my happy little rear on this happy little moped, made sure to put my Birthday Earrings on, and away I went, happy as a clam not being baked, and prepared for my day of birth.

Then it started to rain.

A little bit.

Then it started to rain.

A lot more.

And I was soaked.

I got to work, walked quite briskly to the bathroom in the hopes of not being recognized, took of all my clothes, wrang them out, wiped all the running make-up off of my face, and wrapped my hair up. Then I got creative.


I ended up tying a cardigan around my waist, pulling my sopping skirt back on, pinching my cheeks to give them the ol' rouge look, and eating a CINNABON to make up for the fact that I just got drenched first thing, the morning of my 2-2 birthday.

It was awesome.

So I worked.

I worked well.

I worked so luckily, in fact, that I got off of work early.

I went home, worked on a treasure hunt, and thanked everyone individually on facebook for sending me such wonderful birthday love (not to be confused with birthday sex--mind you,) and went to the theatre.


I also work at this place. TAG, The Actors' Group, and what a marvelous place it is. This summer, I've been interning and loving my life with TAG. Now, I'm in "Duets."


Here I am, propositioning a gay man for marriage.


Here I am again, looking sassy and with good make-up. Everyday life, if only.

So I went to the theatre. Lo and behold, I had friends in the audience tonight!


That's Pua, that's Seana, and the guy in yellow is a boy that I love who loves France.

Good thing they came to the show tonight (Pua and Seana) because man, oh man, was it happening! It was so happening, that my scene partner blanked out, rolled and rummaged and rambled through his mind, and pulled out the next line he could possibly think of: putting us, FIFTEEN PAGES AHEAD.

That's right, we jumped fifteen pages, and still made it work seamlessly.

Says a little bit about the writing, yeah? :)

The show ended (rather soon, in fact), and it was time for us all to go out for the big 2-2 Birthday Celebration!


We went to Murphy's!


We went to JJ's!


And we went to SoHo!


Then, I bid my dear, sweet friends adieu, and they went to the mountains, and I went to the sea, in search of my moped, which was parked at Murphy's.

Now, the tale takes a perilous turn. For as I packed my gear up, clambered onto the moped, and began to drive away, I noticed something peculiar. Very peculiar, in fact. So peculiar that the bike was wobbling on the road, slipping and sliding, and bouncing up and down and up and down.

"This is not the way mopeds ride," methinks.

So, as any smart enough girl will do when something is not going right even though I have no idea what it was, I got off. I checked the gas. I checked the oil. I checked the tires. Bingo. My back tire was absolutely blown out. How? Lordy lordy, I have no idea. But it was shot.

Now. This moped does not belong to me. I'm about seven miles away from my home, in a not so reliable part of town, and I know that if ANYTHING was to happen to this moped, I would not be able to replace it. $11.88 does not go very far, let me tell you that.

I did what any smart girl would do, then. I pushed it!

I pushed it out to the next gas station, and paid .75 cents for air. Little did I know, it was pointless. The air spigot did not suit my air gauge on the tire. I walked inside, spoke a bit with the attendant and the site's policeman, had them confirm what I was seeing with the spigots and gauge, and then sat down and cried a wee bit.

I'm not gonna lie. It was rough. First of all, the "nearest gas station" was about half a mile away. This bike was heavy, and it was three a.m. I have no phone, no numbers, and nobody with a truck to help me, and I absolutely have no money. I was pretty stranded.

But, in reality, was I? Absolutely not. I've got legs. So I used them. I pushed that beautiful, heavy scooter seven miles home. My arms were burning, my legs were pulsing, and my head was spinning (bday, remember?) I kept going. I got there, a bit of two hours later, near four.

I finally locked the bike up about .7 of a mile away from my home. I live up a winding mountain, quite literally, a mountain, and I knew that if I even attempted to get that bike up the hill, it would absolutely roll over and flatten me. I know my limits, and they had been reached. I chained that baby up, and trekked the rest of the way home.

At some point, I got briefly followed and asked to smoke weed. I said, "Thank you, no, I've never smoked in my life," and continued on my way.

At some point, I made it up the mountain. I made it up the stairs. I made it into the yard. And I lovingly allowed myself to crash on the lanaii, falling asleep to a half-clouded, half-starry sky, and thinking, "Shoots. What a birthday night this is."

Such it was, such it is. Thank you, Life, for teaching me life.

Here we go!