I’m insanely busy.

In fact, insane people would go to a level beyond insanity if they had to deal with what’s going on with me right now.

It’s all (mostly) good though.

I am weirdly hitting my stride and finding this strange sweet spot on this island that kind of stuns me a little bit.

I feel really blessed, honestly. There’s a belief here that “Maui” (as if she were a sentient being) embraces you or boots your ass out, or it could be Pele and the others. Regardless, somebody up there likes me and although the pay ain’t so impressive, I am getting (milk money) funded to write funny pieces a la this blog.
So yeah.

The money may suck (balls), but there is a notable audience involved and I get to do what I love (attempt to be funny) so I’m actually freakishly happy about it all.

Anywho, last night I was hanging out with some friends and someone went to a site that I write for to show someone else a piece I did. While there, a headline -

Woman Arrested After Falling Through Ceiling of Police Station -

to be exact, caught their eye.

At first I thought my editor was assigning satirical pieces to someone else and was kinda pissed, but when I realized this ACTUALLY HAPPENED I decided to attempt what a team of a dozen seasoned writers do daily and as a group and with the advantage of bouncing off others and for six figures for David Letterman by myself.

There are some changes here that aren’t mine and that wouldn’t have necessarily been my choice, but my editor was having a bad day – unrelated to me. I am a veritable ray of sunshine. Plus, I’m super grateful he lets me run this stuff at all…no less to such a broad audience – so I decided not to split hairs and here you go. As usual, linked before it’s over because I don’t honestly know if I have legal rights to reprint it.  (???)

Plus, then you can go and leave “fan” comments to counter the guy who called me a “whiny coward” three times over my in-jest Iao Valley hike piece.

Gah.

It’s called a sense of humor, dude.

Look into it.

Top 10 Excuses for Being in the Ceiling of a Police Station

**Editor’s note: This article is based on yesterday’s story about a woman who was arrested after falling through the ceiling of Kihei Police Station.**

This is awesome.

Granted, I have a business card that says “Vanessa Wolf, Journalist,” but that is a gross exaggeration of fact and/or total fiction, depending upon whom you ask. (The assertion, not the card, that is. The card is very real.)

That stated, I think it is completely unfair to use the titles of these blog posts as examples of how “NOT” to craft titles for pieces I write as “news” (although, again, there is “write one fun piece a week” talk going around that also involved the discussion of an opening line about “This is not news.” So there you go.), as

a) I am not a journalist!

b) I suck at titles

c) I don’t particularly care not to suck at titles

d) vagueness is interesting…to me.

e) “Me of Little Faith”: would I read that? Probably. If I knew I wrote it.

Seriously, once in a while someone writes me to comment on how much they loved some ancient post, and I have to go look it up to see what they’re talking about, and more often than not, I’m all, “Damn! I wrote that!? That’s pretty good…”

But I digress…as usual.

Hopefully you guys aren’t coming for the fabulous blog titles anyway, but for the haphazardly timed and hopefully droll material I once and awhile pull myself together to write once in a blue moon.

So anyway, since it’s been a couple weeks since I last updated you, allow me to share my 2013 Resolutions, as publicly posted to Facebook on time.

(Apologies to my parents and any sensitive sorts for #3. It’s kind of an inside joke that you probably don’t want too many details on except to say: thanks for the good genes.)

VANESSA WOLF’S 2013 RESOLUTIONS
1. Finish two of the five novels I currently have half-written.
2. Fix The Book Formerly Known As ZION and self-publish that baby.
3. Exercise three times a week and improve my already (allegedly) “magical ass” into something that shrines are built to.
4. Change my name to V-Wo (goes with #3).
5. Stop dating psychopaths.
6. Stop using my bed as a dumping ground for junk mail, dirty clothes, seventeen issues of The New Yorker, dead batteries, dog toys, and empty bottles of wine.
7. Drink less wine and wake up less with that sinking “Did I really…[fill in with something that's probably worse than you think]???” feeling.
8. Believe six impossible things before breakfast.
9. Laugh until my stomach hurts at least once a week.
10. Find something to be grateful for every day.

What isn’t on this list – only because I just thought of it a couple days ago – is BE BOLD. In all caps like that. BE BOLD.

Personally, I think it’s a good thing needlepoint is no longer quite so popular.

In my writing, my choices, my hairdo, my seasoning of soup…I intend to be bold this year.

Again, I have to apologize to my parents as that sentiment probably scares the hell out of them. In general, the adage in my family is “Vanessa is fearless,” so plans to be even more so are likely alarming when you’re fond of your (alleged) only daughter, but I can’t shake it. I feel like this is the year I need to make some big moves and paint with broad strokes and get some things going finally…and it seems like in life that requires boldness, shaking things up, putting yourself out there in a way that not everyone is going to like or appreciate, but that those who “get it” will love.

What’s that they say or somebody said anyway? “”Be bold and mighty forces will come to your aid”"

There you go.

More on that (perhaps) when I can articulate my thoughts better…

Moving on…

In the words of several former bosses, “So….what else?”

What else?

I’m pretty good.

Life goes on.

I go on.

I’m two weeks into breaking that “work out three times a week” resolution, but I’ve been dreaming about running which maybe means I’ll actually do it someday soon.

I’m in the throes of making a complex calendar of plans as we speak. Maybe I should go buy one of those big dry erase calendars?

Speaking on the frivolous use of money, I tried to buy  myself those turquoise boots, and they won’t send them to Hawaii.

Let me repeat: I want to buy boots that cost $159 and THEY WON’T SEND THEM TO HAWAII.

I know…right!?!?

Fare well, turquoise boots, my star-crossed love. We were robbed.

We have mail here. Stamps cost the same as everywhere else. There’s even a box outside my house and the lady drives up to it every day but Sunday and sticks stuff in there. The boots could be shipped. There are ways.

But, actually, since “Hawaii” isn’t even in the drop down list, there aren’t ways, so I guess I’ll just take it as a sign it wasn’t meant to be.

In other news, I just now learned today that Lance Armstrong was stripped of his titles for using steroids.

THAT’S WHY ALL THE WEIRD LOOKS FOR MY ‘LIVESTRONG’ BRACELETS!!!!

(Well, that and the fact that Livestrong bracelets were cool for five minutes…five years ago. And I’m just kidding. I’ve never owned a Livestrong bracelet.  I don’t have balls, so prostrate cancer is no concern of mine.)

Anyway, I have critical laundry and vacuum duties to attend to, but nice chatting with you.

Live long and prosper and keep doing what you’re doing, because you look gorgeous.

“Lack nothing: be merry”

~Shakespeare, Henry IV

I doubt people would enjoy champagne as much if opening a bottle of it resulted in a small fiery explosion.

It’s almost over. Arguably the most hopeful, horrific, joyful, painful, free falling, unexpectedly memorable year of my life.

Over and out.

2012: Kiss my ass.

Thank god they invented the new year: the seed in our minds blooming into the idea of a fresh start or another chance. What would we do if it all just ran into one big blob? Well, except consider ourselves to be a lot younger.

Still, specifically calculated advanced years and all, I  am glad to see the door close on 2012: the Year the Mayans Tried to Kill Us.

So here’s to survival instincts, old loves, lost causes, dear friends, dashed hopes, clean water, shooting stars, bold dreams, bigger actions, and endless possibility.

May your joys be as deep as the ocean, and your misfortunes light as its foam.

Seasons’ greetings from the whitest place on Maui…under the blankets on my bed.

It’s a little nippy this morning (well, nippy in a tropical way) which is kind of nice and makes me not really want to get up and walk the dog and listen to the cat scream like a banshee for his breakfast.

Hell, who am I kidding? I never feel like doing any of that.

Anyway, and as you know, it’s a bit of a melancholy Christmas around these parts, but I decided to (wo)man up and face it head on. I have not one, but two fully decked out Christmas trees set up. I have about ten wrapped boxes under said trees – some, admittedly empty, because when I first set it up around Thanksgiving I was totally going through the motions. However, there are some real presents there now: gifts from friends, family, or “Santa” (I say lying to myself is perfectly acceptable in certain circumstances.) Santa heard about those turquoise boots I wanted for my birthday and decided to show me some love.

I have a ham in the fridge and a half-dozen half-prepared side dishes and at least 20 people coming by today to eat some it and hang out and hopefully help me stay in gratitude and focus on what is good in my life.

I’ve always been someone who loved Christmas.

I used to sit in Catholic mass and read the hymnal, humming all the Christmas songs to myself. My father accused me of being Italian (apologies to all the Italians out there as apparently my family associates your heritage with being tacky.) when I left a fully lit mini Christmas tree up in my room year-round. The summer of my 11th year, I was banned from touching my step-grandparents’ organ because I wouldn’t stop playing Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on it. Granted, my piano stylings were self-taught and it was summertime…

Anyway, I think that twinkling light-loving, carol bellowing, starry eyed little girl in me will carry the day. At least I hope so.

And hopefully, wherever you are you, the magic of the season finds you and gives you a little kiss.

Merry Christmas and God bless us, everyone.

So, as you probably know, I’m about to get old.

Well, I’m about to be exactly the same but with a unit of linear time assigned to my personage that makes me…and I just need to embrace this and deal…40.

Actually, yesterday I had lunch with someone to discuss a possible book writing project. He asked me what year I graduated from high school and I told him 1991. He gasped, “I opened my first restaurant before you were born! You’re a baby!!! You’re wait…what?”

“I’m 40 in about ten days.”

“Wait. 1991?”

“High school. You asked me what year I graduated from high school. I was born in 1972. I’m about to turn 40.”

“I thought you were like 28 or 29.”

“Nope. I’m 40.”

“Wow. I can’t believe it.”

“Yep. 40. 1972.”

“You do not look it.”

“It’s true. 40.”

Having said it – out loud and even loudly and in a public place where anyone could have overheard me – it didn’t seem **so** bad.

Still, I’m toying with the idea of remaining indefinitely 39 if anyone’s asking…until I can’t get away with that anymore. At that point, let’s say in a decade, I’ll bump up to being permanently 45.

Anywho, in intrepid preparation for the big four oh, here is a hodge podge things of I hope the birthday fairy brings me, because  I sure as hell can’t afford them for myself.

1. These awesome boots.

Size 9. Want/need/considering eating nothing but Top Ramen to afford.

Boots in Hawaii!? Um. Yes. And with shorts no less.

2. New tires for my Jeep.

When I bought it a year ago, the guy said the tires would be good until January…as in nine months ago.

This is not my Jeep. My Jeep is a) more beat up. b) black c) filthy d) all of the above, plus in need of new tires and break pads.

3) New brake pads for my Jeep. Peeps in the know say that’s what the horrific squealing is when I roll down the street. Another $300? Hopefully no more… (Someone mentioned something about “grinding rotors.” Sounds bad/$$$.)

4) This for Foof, because – as much as I hate to admit it – it’s not all about me. Plus this is kind of his dream come true: to wail on a dog.

http://thecompanyofpets.com/products.html

Even this would do, Fu says…and cheaper than a couch.

http://shop.hepper.com/collections/hepper-modern-pet-furniture-for-cats-and-dogs/products/hepper-itch-cat-scratcher?a_aid=floppycats

5) A tattoo (sorry, parents.)

It’s going to be a shark. I just haven’t figured out the specifics. At first I was thinking this:

On my butt, of course. Kidding.

But now I’m leaning more in this territory

This is a Hawaiian shark…allegedly.

6) A basket for my bike because it’s a boy bike. I got it cheap and they didn’t have girl bikes in stock and the sale was that day only, so – again – it’s a black boy bike. In short, it (desperately) needs a cute girly basket with maybe some flowers. Plus then I can ride to Foodland instead of driving my stripped tires/bad brakes Jeep and have a way to bring the Top Ramen back.

I’m thinking maybe a few fake plastic Gerbera daisies on  the front, as well.

7. A case of these bad boys

Top Ramen has, like, zero nutritional value. You at least want me to survive this poor patch in my life…right???

Fu Manchu and I thank you in advance.

10/3