'Mahalo' does not mean 'trashcan', and other words of wisdom from Hawaii

Growing up at the beach in Rhode Island, it was always my DREAM to go to Hawaii. I think I secretly wanted to be Kate Bosworth from Blue Crush (regardless of the fact that I’ll never be that skinny even if I decided to be bulimic for the week) and fall in love with a pro-athlete in the middle of the Maui swells… Fast forward ten years, and I ended up in Hawaii, but not as a pro-surfer; for my job, staying in way nicer hotels than Bosworth’s beach shack, hanging with some of my boyfriend’s childhood friends (as I was in his native stomping grounds), and enjoying some of the best sushi I’ve ever had in my life.


But I will be honest; Hawaii is NOT like the rest of the main land. When I landed, got my Jeep Wrangler from Hertz, and cruised off to my hotel after traveling for twenty hours, realized that life on O’ahu was closer to a Samoan beach movie than my Chinatown, DC neighborhood. And after making it to two additional Hawaiian Islands (minus Kau’ai, which stinks, because I heard it’s beautiful plus the surfer girl who got her arm bit off by the shark is from there), I got tan, leid (not ‘laid’), and did some pretty good business for my job as well. And, despite the fact that ‘mahalo’ is printed on every trash can in Waikiki, learned that this native Hawaiian word does NOT mean trash, but rather “thank you”. Here are some other tidbits from my Hawaii travels:

• Take Alaska Airlines, hands down. It’s reasonable to fly, the planes are gorg, and even if you’re a plebe in Coach like I was, there are great Hawaiian style entres that they serve for dinner. Plus, when you land, they serve complimentary Mai Tais...
• Pretend you’re Dog the Bounty Hunter’s wife (every middle aged white woman looks like her in O’ahu), tan up, wear a bikini too small for you, and bake on Waikiki Beach for the day. You’ll see some characters, be inspired to surf, and feel like the traditional Hawaiian tourist.

• Drink POG (pomegranate-orange-guava) juice. Although I’m unsure actually how much juice is really in it, this sugary concoction is served for free on Hawaiian Airlines and can be found pretty much anywhere on the islands.

• Get into Hawaiian reggae, because you’ll pretty much hear it everywhere you go. I didn’t take the radio off of Island 98.5 during my last trip, and am now totally obsessed with J Boog, Kolohekai, The Green, and Maoli…

• The Big Island is not what you think. Yes, there’s a volcano, cool, but not too many actual beaches… and while there are some beautiful towns between Kona and Hilo, a lot of what you’ll see on this island is a time warp, as a lot of the buildings haven’t been updated since before Hawaii’s statehood…cuidado.

• MAUI IS PARADISE. ENOUGH SAID (but, literally everything there looks like it’s out of a Sandals commercial… AKA lots of cheesy white people looking to be romantical somewhere exotic).

• Go zip-lining. I was there for work and unfortunately couldn’t, so please do it in lieu of my ability to.

• Stay away from the Italian food. Save your cravings for your next trip to NYC. Hawaii is NOT the place to mangia.

The consensus? I already have a flight booked back July 7th.

Redline Makes Me Like Sports

Okay, that's a lie. Unless I'm watching Cristiano Rinaldo or David Beckham, I'm pretty much bored and over it. However, Chinatown's latest sports bar haunt, Redline, serves up tons of HD tvs with the latest games, great food, and actually serves beer in a way that does not make me feel like a classless fatass (individual taps accompany every table, so you actually have two drafts of your choosing available at your table- so a la mode and VIP-like). After going to watch the Barcelona/Madrid game this past Saturday, I remembered how much I actually like the place. And aside from the fact that it's owned by a friend of mine, Redline caters not only to the sporty frat-boy crowd, but to the sports bar-haters like me who cringe at the idea of spending a Saturday afternoon watching a game at McFaddens.The menu is also AWESOME- food is delectable and goes to show you that watching sports is not an excuse to consume mediocre food that's a bazillion calories (for the purposes of examples, I had a caprese salad and tomato hummus while "watching" the game). But the leather couches, brick walls, a cosmopolitan question, and, yes, lots of guidos and prepsters mixed into one room? Redline is definitely a spot that caters to and satisfies all taste and styles. And, after my Saturday afternoon, I was proved wrong-I thought I was the only one who dressed up to watch spots.

Haunted Hotel, San Fran Style

Already lectured by my significant other that it was stupid to stay in Starwood Hotels, I think the Marriot gods answered his prayers and had it in for me on my latest trip to San Francisco. And boy did they. Realizing that the gorgeous St. Francis Hotel, recently acquired by Westin, was not only in my company policy but was also five star and would contribute to my Starwood Points, booked myself for what I thought would be two nights of luxury. I was wrong.

Let me preface this by saying that my experience will not- and shouldn't deter anyone- from staying at the hotel in the future. The service is top knotch, the architecture is elegant, and Bourbon Steak, the restaurant located inside the hotel, is insanely delicious. However, two nights ago, I decided to have a late night cardio sesh in the downstairs gym. On my way back to my floor, which was the twelfth, I decided to take the elevator to the Old Tower, which is the historic section of the floor. Upon getting off the elevator, and call me crazy, but this huge draft of freezingly cold air blew down the hallway so quickly that it even moved my clothes. Regardless of the fact that I still wasn't sure if this was supernatural or not, it took me by surprise, not to mention that the Shining-esque hotel surroundings made the experience all too creepy for my liking.
I was pretty shaken up, and decided to ask the concierge if there was a forceful air conditioner or something that that on the 12th floor- he would either think I was the craziest guest in the world, or provide me with some resolution to what happened. Well, after telling the concierge what happened, his facial expression quickly changed.
"There are no vents, or even windows, on the floor itself," he explained to me, "And we get notified about something like that happening once a week. Guests have felt wind, others have seen doors slam, and some have even seen the figure of a white apparation. A silent film star passed away on the twelfth floor in the twenties, and weird things have been happening up there ever since. I don't even go up there late at night."

I was totally tripped out, asked to have my room moved, but with the hotel entirely booked, ended up having a glass of wine and sleeping with the light on.

Maybe it was coincidence, but the fact that I was even sleeping on a floor deemed as haunted was enough to shake me up. The Westin St. Francis is a gorgous hotel in the heart of Union Square in San Francisco- Just don't stay on the twelfth floor. Needless to say, I wish I stayed at the Marriot.

Real Housewives of DC- Nixed for Good?!

Yes, Bravo fans, it’s true. Yesterday, Andy Cohen released a not-so-pleasing announcement for Washingtoniennes everywhere, as the first season of the Real Housewives franchise gets denied another contract for a second season. And while Micheale (I don’t know how to spell her name correctly, nor do I care to learn how to. Why can’t she just call herself Michaela?) Salahi definitely stirred up some juicy drama in the season finale (and is now the official laughing stock of the District… but props to her, I wish I knew how to crash a White House gala), the show just didn’t cut it. And as a Washingtonienne myself who has proudly represented the city for nearly seven years, I was bored out of my mind after two episodes. Sure, Lynda’s neurotic antics were adorable (along with the man on her arm, Ebong), Kat’s British grace was elegant, and Mary’s see-and-be-seen attitude definitely mirrored Housewives in other seasons (she’s constantly at the W), our political mentalities and cultural awareness totally take precedence in the District over a decadent spending lifestyle that is perfect for a reality sitcom.


Regardless of how rich women are in the District, they just don’t give a crap about Herve Leger, Bentleys, and plastic surgery the way that members of the other Housewives’ franchises do. DC is a totally different culture than most other cities in the country, perhaps with a more European, je ne said quoi charisma to it that is fast thinking, forward processing, with entertainment totally off of its radar. And while I’m definitely happy that I don’t live in a city full of bimbos, DC has got to let it go with this reality TV thing- we’re not hot enough, controversial enough, or dramatic enough to cater to America’s viewers in the reality television constituency. And that’s fine; Let’s be honest, I would SO take Barack Obama over Camille Grammer any day!

Don't Wear Ed Hardy in Portland

Despite being constantly exhausted, my weekly travels to the West Coast have been eye-opening, fun, but most importantly, have exposed me to the idea that the ‘guido phenomenon’ is something only popular and somewhat trendy in the East Coast- more specifically, totally UNcool unless you’re raging in the Tri-State Area, Rhode Island, or Connecticut. On a recent trip to Portland this past week, I learned this the hard way. Fully equipped to comfortably travel on my eight hour flight out of DCA, I wore what any normal person would; Leggings, my Sacajaweah-esque moccasins, a black juicy zip up, and an Ed Hardy top underneath. Let’s just say that why my travels were comfy, the servers at the ultra-hipster hot spot Clyde Commons downtown were not impressed and treated me like I had the Bubonic plague or something.

And while Portland is definitely NOT a fan of Ed Hardy, Juicy, or anything else that’s sparkly and fun for that matter, it’s truly an adorable city. Surrounded by the mountains and greenery everywhere, the streets are clean (you might as well be equal to a murderer if you litter in this uber-Green conscious place), the sky is grey, and I feel like I’m in Columbia Heights every corner I turn. And in typical blogger fashion, here are my dos and don’ts of exploring the city, after having made two trips in the past two weeks:

DO

• Indulge in some local coffee. Seriously, I never knew hippies, hipsters, and punks alike were so obsessed.

• Drive over the bridge to Vancouver, Washington. It’s an artsy city and you can say you’ve been to Washington!

• Have a fabulous dinner at June. The service is phenom, the food is amazing and all organic/sustainable/whatever-they-call-it, and you’ll leave having been to one of Portland’s best eateries.

• Check out Distiller’s Row. It’s a street in Portland where every bar brews their own beer. I’m not a beer person because it makes me feel fat and like I’m a trashy college girl every time I drink it, but it’s definitely a pretty cool spot.

• Stay in the Westin downtown: I’ve stayed there both times I’ve gone and they treat you five star for the price of a four star. The rooms are huge, brand new, and beautiful, and addressing me by my name every time they see me? I seriously feel like Cinderella. Or JLO.

• Go to the Portland Art Museum: I didn’t do this. But I heard it’s fabulous and you’ll feel cultured.

DON’T

• Wear your sparkly hoop earrings from Bebe. Seriously, it’s not appropriate here and you’ll stick out like a sore thumb.

• Try to go outdoor tanning. It’s cloudy eighty percent of the year and it ain’t gonna happen.

• Flaunt your Republican beliefs if you have a conservative school of thought. Apart from Provincetown, I’ve never been anywhere more liberal in my life and you’ll probably get tarred and feathered if you start talking about George Bush, the war, or anything like that in a way that’s favorable.

• Heckle the city cyclists. As much as I hate this new bicycle fad that has swept our pop culture, there’s too many of them here and you’ll probably end up in a fight if you try to start anything.

• Wear pink, turquoise, or any colors outside of the grey/Earth-tone palate. You’ll be SO un-Portland if you do.

Need more of an image of beautiful- but very, very crunchy- Portland, Oregon? Check out the ultimately hilarious clips of a new show, known as Portlandia, on You Tube. Poking fun at feminism, hipsters, and the protest scene in general, you’ll have a laugh and totally get a better sense of what this city is all about. Plus, you’ll be able to start planning your wardrobe before your trip out to the beautiful Pacific Northwest.

Loving LA-LA Land

Everyone hates on Los Angeles. But to be entirely honest with you, if it wasn't for my affinity for hoop earrings, Juicy jump suits, and my loved ones in the North East, I would totally move there in a heart beat. And having had to go there on business for the week last week only reaffirmed my love for the City of Angels. Now, don't get me wrong; It totally has its hood-esque parts like any city and the smog is not exactly my fav. But LA is truly a gem of old Hollywood flavor, chola culture, and a fabulosity to it that makes you feel rich even if you're just driving around in a Mazda 3 rental car. Here are a few must-do's if you'd like to paint LA leopard the next time you're there:

• Shop on Melrose: The boutiques are trendy and super inexpensive. I'm not guarenteeing that you'll necessarily find the most quality pieces here, but scratch the Forever 21 fund and find some really unique pieces that won't put a dent in your checking account.
• Get a tattoo on Hollywood Boulevard: It probably has more tattoo parlors than I've ever seen on a single square mile in my life. With some great tattoo artists (Kat Von Dee, anyone?) actually working in this area and some really reasonable prices, the tattoos here will go to show you that good tattoos actually can be cheap.
• Enjoy the tasting menu at Jose Andres' Bazar in the SLS Hotel: No joke, it was probably one of the best dinners I have ever had in my entire life and had me trying some of the most eccentric finger foods I've ever had in my life. From caviar ice cream cones to crunchy toro wrapped in avocado, this place was totally worth the expensive check at the end (And, if you have the best sommelier in DC, Andrew Stover, there to select your wines, then you're in even better shape).
• Go to the Santa Monica Pier: Want to see the Jersey Shore look somewhat classy and surrounded by palm trees? Check out the most adorable little beach carnival you've ever seen in your life and become a kid again.
• Induldge in a red velvet pancake: It looks yucka on the outside, but The Gridle is LA's most famous breakfast spot, fully accompanied with delicious gourmet takes on traditional breakfast fare. Although I wasn't able to eat for the rest of the day after my red velvet pancake, it was well worth it.
• Have cocktails at the Chateau Marmount: Famous for its celebrity sightings, you're bound to see someone here. Nestled in a historic hotel in West Hollywood, I was only there for an hour and got to see Eva Longoria (who was, FYI, adorable in person).
• Ride bikes in Hermosa Beach: I.E. one of the only acceptable places to actually ride a bike. Please refer to other posts.
• Go to the Sky store!: Probably the grand finale to my trip, I alotted myself a small allowance and the only store location of my favorite brand in the world. You will literally be in a sparkle bliss upon entering, so brace yourself for Robertson Boulevard's best boutique.

This list could have gone on all day, but those are just the highlights of LA's deliciousness. So next time someone hates on LA and says it's ghetto, think again- put on your Slightly Stoopid, Dr. Dre, Sublime, or whatever other Cali staples you have on your iPod, because there's a reason that they call is la-la land.

St. Joseph's Day: The Real Holiday of March

St. Patrick’s Day is such a rancid holiday. I don’t like the color green, I detest beer, and I really think it just gives everyone an excuse to be a total slob for the day. I think the Leprechaun Lap in Dupont Circle is cool like once when you’re nineteen, and then it should be retired. What people in DC, or in communities outside of the urban Northeast for that matter, forget is that there’s an even bigger holiday out there, so much sexier than St. Patrick and his clovers will ever be. It’s March 19^th today, and Ciao Bella, Happy St. Joseph’s Day to you! In Italian-American households everywhere (or those who have had the culture shoved down their throat since they were in Kindergarten like me), Nonas are baking zeppoles and everyone’s wearing their red attire, because today is the real celebration. Also revered by Spanish, Greek, and Portuguese Catholics as well, St. Joseph’s day is a holiday that promises a prosperous year when it comes to finances and health, and is especially celebrate in cities with high Italian populations (those, according to Wikipedia, are New York City; Utica, New York; Buffalo; Kansas City, MO; Chicago;^[8][11] Gloucester, Mass.; and Providence, Rhode Island). In DC like me and don’t have access to a five-star St. Joseph’s Day dinner at Cappriccio’s? Have some delicious Italian cuisine in Georgetown at Filomenna’s, Paper Moon (AKA the second home of my old landlord, but that’s a story for another day) or Ristorante Piccolo. Top off dinner with a delicious canole or zeppole for dessert and you’ll be feeling bellisimo in no time. Just, please, no green beer.