(Lauren: Finally! Someone to share in the blogging responsibilities… Take it, Beth!)

Christmas in Hawaii means perfect weather, beautiful beaches and learning that “Mele Kalikimaka is the t’ing to say!” 

Lauren met me at the airport and we took off for our extravagant expenditure: a four star hotel near Waikiki beach.  The first night, we were both so jetlagged that we ended up ordering in Hawaiian pizza — which Lauren thought was the most amazing food she had ever put in her mouth.  The next day, we hit the beach and I learned that Hawaiian-sized meals make American-sized meals look puny.

Two days later, we caught a short flight up to Kauai and met Lauren’s mom and sister in the airport. 

The condo in Kauai was perfect, with a small kitchen and patio.  Thus began the days of sunning on the picturesque Poipu Beach, lazy nights in the condo (watching endless hours of Lauren’s travel videos), rum drinks at sunset, and more food than we could possibly eat.

Lauren regalled us with many Asia stories and gave all of us “Asian pants” for Christmas, which are like very large silk pants that you tie on with a string.  For Christmas, she donned a traditional Vietnamese dress, after which Lauren’s mother started calling her Mae Ling and asked her if she would be renoucing her American citizenship and moving permanently to Chaing Mai.

No trip to Hawaii is complete without a luau, so we headed over to the concierge, Kristen, to ask about our options.  We knew beforehand that it would be a major expense, but Lauren and I weren’t quite prepared for the sticker shock: $75 each.

We had heard about cheaper luaus elsewhere, and when we asked Kristen about them, she told us we could get up to $100 off per couple if we went and heard a Marriott reps’ spiel about timeshares.  The catch: we had to own our own home and make at least $85,000 a year to qualify. 

“But,” added Kristen, “It’s not like they’d ever know if you didn’t.”

So we signed up.

The luau was fun, though a little Vegas-esque.  The M.C. even dressed up like Elvis at one point.  There wasn’t, much to my disappointment, a huge pig with an apple in its mouth being carved (the pork was in a dish, buffet style, like everything else), but the food was amazing, the mai tais and rum punches were free flowing, and there was fire-eating. 

(Lauren: We scared Beth for days about “poi”, a purple Hawaiian specialty paste made from tarot. She finally had a taste at the luau and wasn’t as horrified as she thought she would be, but didn’t go for seconds. I, on the other hand, found it to be much more pleasant than my childhood memories, and poured it over my roasted pork.)

Not ones to be caught unprepared, Lauren and I developed an extensive background for the timeshare walk-through.  We decided that I had bought our old apartment in Park Slope three years ago, when the mortgage rates were good, and that I had got a good rate cause it was rent-stabilized.  My parents had helped me with  significant down payment (thanks, Mom and Dad!) so the mortgage payments were manageable. I still worked at Fenton, Lauren was still at JwJ (doing non-profit work, but she doesn’t really need a job), and we’d been together three years (living together for two).  And we were, as required for the $100 off, domestic partners.

Our salesguy was named Jim. 

As he took us on our tour around the Marriott, Lauren and I got into our we’re-too-rich-for-this aloofness.  Lauren asked about the premium Christmas rates and nodded without flinching as he informed her that it was an extra $10,000 to reserve Christmas time.  I, not to be outdone, asked about the golfing nearby.

“There’s plenty,” said Jim.  “Do you golf?”

“I do,” I responded, as Lauren shot me a look.  (I’ve never held a golf club in my life.)

In the end, Jim seemed completely convinced that we could afford this time share, because the pressure was on for us to buy it.  We couldn’t convince him that this wasn’t quite right for our lifestyle right now (owning a five-star condimenium versus backpacking it in developing countries).  So we left it with wanting to talk to Lauren’s mom about going in together on a condo timeshare and that we’d call him after lunch. 

Needless to say, we never called.

(Lauren: Although I should direct you to the quotes page, this one has to go on the main blog because we could not stop laughing about it… Favorite quote from the timeshare pitch: “This is not for your children. This is for your children’s children.” The Barkers turned this into “This is not for your children, this is for your children’s children’s children’s children’s…” and so on and so forth.)

Other highlights of the trip included Lauren’s mom’s amazing Christmas stratta, Uncle Scot’s Christmas present of an all-expense paid meal at the Grand Hyatt (Thanks, Uncle Scot!) and my very first Christmas with the Barkers, including my own Christmas stocking with my name on it (Thanks, Mrs. Barker!).