I find myself in Hawaii, where I was raised, for this holiday season. Boy did I get the bum end of the stick. Let me tell you about some of the horrible things I’ve been subjected to while I’ve been here.

First of all, the weather is perfect. Isn’t that just miserable? Believe me, you’re not missing out on anything here. The sun has been shining since the morning after my plane landed. Might I add that my plane was loaded chock full of attractive, single men – I’m assuming they were surfers here for the monster swell. I asked my mom when she picked me up if Hawaiians are ordering up young Caucasian stallions like mail order brides.

On Christmas Eve, my family had a big potluck dinner. It was a spread that stretched 20 feet long, and included several different fish dishes (I come from a family of fishermen). A lot of family members from my generation have started to settle down and have babies. There were newborns and toddlers giggling and cooing all over the place. An uncle had dressed up as Santa Claus and passed out gifts to all the kids. One little girl, wearing a red velveteen jumper dress fell in love with Santa Claus. She was positively enthralled by his presence. All of those joyful children, and all of that seafood filling my belly on a balmy Christmas Eve… GROSS!

Brace yourself: Christmas day gets ugly. It began with opening presents with grandma and mom. Then we went to church at an historic Episcopalian chapel that has been standing for more than a hundred years. It was a warm, sunny day and the surf was still pounding at the beach, so mom and I went to watch the waves that were pounding the north facing shores of all islands. There was a gorgeous stand up surfer with a long board and a paddle that was taking a serious beating out in the big surf. He just kept getting back up, all for the sake of some sweet rides. At the end of the day, my hair was wild from the salt air and sand had found its way into the deepest recesses of my scalp. Annoying, right? I told you it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Yesterday, I signed up for a set of classes at the Yoga Center up the street from my grandmother’s house. For an hour and a half, I chanted and stretched my body into nothing but the restorative poses of the Iyengar practice. Seriously guys? Only restorative? How about a little variety, huh? Way to blow it.

All of this just reminds me of why I love living in LA. Wait, what? What am I doing there? All things considered, moving back home may just be the answer to all my problems. If only the Fates would bestow upon me one opportunity to meet a pro-surfer while I’m here on vacation and get knocked up with his baby before I leave. But then, of course, I'd have to kiss all those dreams of fame and fortune goodbye. My life as an aspiring writer and vibrant Angeleno would go right out the window. But who needs all of that when you've got an endless supply of beach days and spam musubi's at your disposal? Oh, decisions, decisions.