In conclusion (while sort of tipsy?)

People. You must all go to Hawaii. Like, tomorrow. Even all of you who are like me: people who like to visit important historical cities in November and December, who like to see all the right museums and warm up with cappuccino in small cafes, who collect every ticket and receipt for the scrapbook, who read up and study ahead of time, who prefer vodka and gin to rum, who duck into enormous cathedrals to get out of the rain. ESPECIALLY you people. You are the ones who need to squeeze yourselves into your swimsuit and check out a turquoise towel from your hotel pool boy and march yourselves across the street to the most famous beach in the world and lie in the sand and cook until your skin starts to peel off. Then you need to go celebrate your twenty-seventh birthday with a mai tai at the Sheraton Moana's beachside bar with your husband and your friends and the dudes playing ukelele in the background.

We're leaving tomorrow and oh, I am so sad. I am going to get up early and go swimming one last time. I'm going to sun myself on my lanai. I'm going to gaze mournfully at Diamond Head and think about how I'll be able to afford another trip at Christmas if I live on Top Ramen for the next four months. People! How come it's taken me THIS LONG to get myself to Hawaii?

Everyone here is on vacation. Everyone is happy. Even the flight attendants were cheerful and friendly and joking around. The locals love charging us $12 for watered down cocktails. The tourists are enthralled by the white sand, the palm trees, the glorious blue ocean, the 24 hour pool access. They're talkative in the elevators, they smile at you at the pool and ask if you're on your honeymoon. The streets are full until way past midnight. The locals surf in the dark. The hotels are like tiny cities, with huge lobbies and numerous towers and boutiques on the ground floor. If you happen to drop your wallet as you're exiting your car and notice it's missing ten minutes later, a 16-year-old valet has kindly picked it up for you and turned it in, preventing misery and trauma and the utter ruination of your wife's twenty-seventh birthday.

Now I know what it means to be on vacation. And unfortunately, it's OVER. WAH.

Actually, I think I'm ready to go home. I kind of miss my bed, even though the bed here is a king-sized cloud with fresh white sheets and a dozen down pillows. I'm a little worried about my garden and the dust bunnies and the bathroom I neglected to clean; and my mom says it's supposed to be super hot this weekend, which will be a small consolation. I am wholly uninterested in going back to work, but I'd like to see what TiVo has saved for me. You know- going back to what's normal.

Also, I am old. I have exactly two minutes left of my birthday in Hawaii and I am spending them on the laptop while my husband channel surfs from the bed. I had a drink and a half at the swank hotel down the street and then the four of us slowly sauntered back to our room to say goodbye because we are OLD and TIRED and it's WAY past our bedtimes. I should tell you about my friend Malia sometime, and how she still likes me even though I talk about things like blogs and Flickr and embarrass her by whipping out the laptop in the Hilo airport. I should tell you about how our mutual friend set us up to be roommates and how we always celebrate our birthdays together and how she's from Hawaii and I am not and how I bawled when I saw her off at the airport after graduation. But I am very very tired and there is one minute left of my birthday which means one more minute of getting Phillip to do whatever I want.

So... get thee to Orbitz and find yourself a flight!