creep blue sea.

So as you all know, I'm sort of a Grade A Dynamo. I have this stupid sense of adventure that just can't be contained. I am at my happiest when I'm in the air, exploring new places, and generally being a worldly individual. At this point in my life, it's pretty safe to say traveling is a passion of mine. I will book a flight for no fucking reason and figure out what to do later. I'm all walk and no talk, if you catch my drift. I'm also ridiculously fiscally irresponsible, but I'm not in debt cause I don't possess any credit cards. Anyway, after making sure my carbon footprint grew to the size of Texas via flyer miles last year, I decided to give nature a break. I put my passport away, deleted Travelocity from my bookmarks, and stopped visiting my favorite travel forum. I said I'd be more responsible, maybe even get a real job. I said I'd stay home on weeknights, actually do my homework, and be a prim 24 year old. I said a lot of things, dear readers, but I LIED.



It had only been about 2 months into the year when I started feeling "down in the dumps". Every time I stumbled over my deflated suitcase, I felt the skies darken just a bit more. I tried to ease the transition, to no avail. What did it matter if I'd put an over the top chandelier in my room? What did it matter if I had a brand new TV? What did it matter if my room was the baddest goth cave in existence? It was just kinda like... want thingamabobs? I've got twenty. But who cares? No big deal... I WANT MORE! (Ariel, 1989). I missed the excitement of planning for a trip. I missed having my boobs felt up by TSA agents. I missed having crippling jet lag. I missed the Real Me.



And then it happened. It was an unusually hot day in Southern California and I was talking to my girl BFF about how great it would be to lounge at the beach with a frosty drink in our paws. Our birthdays are exactly 2 weeks apart and in the nearly 7 years that we have been friends, we've only celebrated our birthdays together ONCE. Those were the days... we were single and carefree. Well guess what? The stars aligned. It was time to wild the fuck out. Shit is popping off abroad, so we ruled out any international travel. We were kind of in a birthday rut, seeing as we didn't wanna go to Vegas aka the ultimate HAS BEEN of all destinations. We had an epiphany. Who needed a frosty drink on a beach when we could go to PARADISE?! So we did what any [fabulous] assholes with disposable income would do. We booked a trip to Hawaii.



I can't believe I have never been to Hawaii! I've flown over it, of course, but it never crossed my mind as a place to actually vacation. She is a major girl who likes to be pampered and I am a menace who prefers explosions. We are hitting up spas & Pearl Harbor to fulfill our differences, but we still needed an activity that would be mutually enjoyable. We needed a common ground. A quick google search led me to the answer. Two words: SCUBA DIVING!



The more I thought about it, the more I realized that Scuba Diving is actually kinda chic. It's sort of like being an underwater Astronaut aka the most kick ass occupation imaginable. What's more, you also get to see real life ship wrecks and marine life in the ultimate HD as it is literally in your face. There is also the whole getting eaten by a shark thing which is kinda glamorous and exotic if you think about it. Guys, I am terrified of the ocean cause there are so many creepy ORGANISMS down there that I do not wanna play with. I refuse to get punked, so it's exactly the reason I am gonna do it. It is snatching me out of my comfort zone and dragging me down to the mysterious and murky depths of the goddamn Pacific Ocean! How balls to the wall is that? We are both Cancers so you know water is our natural habitat. It's probably destiny. I hope the Kraken, the Flying Dutchman, or stupid old Flotsam & Jetsam don't terrorize us. Here's to a very safe DEEP SEA EXPEDITION! Cross your fingers so I can find a sweet dinglehopper to show yall!



Six weeks til Hawaii!