If Pedro had two hats, and Juan had three hats
Friday night was UPB's Tagis-Lakas. Never got around to actually watching it, I had the privileged position of Backstage Julalay. That's what you get when your batchmates are the pageant contestants for your org. God, the things I do for these people.
Or, more relevantly, the things they do for us.
Like parade around in a bastardized swimsuit, slather on genuine mud, and prance around shirtless impersonating a cheerleader.
The day is gone
The sky is blue
I know you're all alone
And the sky is blue
Come back to me
The sky is blue
The sky is blue
-The Cigarette Song, All-American Rejects
Saturday morning, post-Tagis. After walking around Baguio (started from Harrison Road, to Aurora Hell-I-mean-Hill, up Trancoville, around SLU, and back to Harrison) we settled down at the Plaza--this was about 5am--and it was there that I felt how it was to be so incredibly DUGYOT. God.
One of my Baguio experiences: falling asleep on a stone bench in a public place in the wee hours of the morning, after a 3-5am trek around the darkest corners of the city, with Hunk of the Freshman Night and Nikki.
Nothing like prowling around Aurora Hell-I-mean-Hill in beer-laced glee.
Wasn't even supposed to happen. I was planning to wait for morning (and consequently the jeeps to Trancoville) in Session Road, preferably with the indispensible cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee, a few sticks of poison, and good company. Nearly happened, but then good company decided to invade Zarya's house instead. So I was left with Nikki, Francis (who was one of our representatives for Tagis--the one who, after making like a doped-up cheerleader, resolved to indefinitely say goodbye to extracurricular activities and possibly shave his head in a desperate attempt to make himself unrecognizable), and ates and kuyas. Long story short, Francis went home, and Nikki and I somehow managed to dig up the ates and kuyas, who confirmed our suspicions that they were having happy hour and were attempting not to corrupt us young and innocent freshies. Suffice it to say, they wished.
Got home at 6am, Saturday morning, slept, woke up at 12, ate, went back to bed, fell asleep at around 3pm, woke up and 6pm, and went back to bed at 9pm. Woke up at 6am this morning, and here I am somewhere in Session Road, attempting to finish an overdue paper.
I love my life.
PS: moving to my new place tomorrow. P1-25 Gabriela Silang. Hint, hint. Send me something, I'd have time to read letters and dismantle the occasional bomb.
Or, more relevantly, the things they do for us.
Like parade around in a bastardized swimsuit, slather on genuine mud, and prance around shirtless impersonating a cheerleader.
The day is gone
The sky is blue
I know you're all alone
And the sky is blue
Come back to me
The sky is blue
The sky is blue
-The Cigarette Song, All-American Rejects
Saturday morning, post-Tagis. After walking around Baguio (started from Harrison Road, to Aurora Hell-I-mean-Hill, up Trancoville, around SLU, and back to Harrison) we settled down at the Plaza--this was about 5am--and it was there that I felt how it was to be so incredibly DUGYOT. God.
One of my Baguio experiences: falling asleep on a stone bench in a public place in the wee hours of the morning, after a 3-5am trek around the darkest corners of the city, with Hunk of the Freshman Night and Nikki.
Nothing like prowling around Aurora Hell-I-mean-Hill in beer-laced glee.
Wasn't even supposed to happen. I was planning to wait for morning (and consequently the jeeps to Trancoville) in Session Road, preferably with the indispensible cup of Dunkin' Donuts coffee, a few sticks of poison, and good company. Nearly happened, but then good company decided to invade Zarya's house instead. So I was left with Nikki, Francis (who was one of our representatives for Tagis--the one who, after making like a doped-up cheerleader, resolved to indefinitely say goodbye to extracurricular activities and possibly shave his head in a desperate attempt to make himself unrecognizable), and ates and kuyas. Long story short, Francis went home, and Nikki and I somehow managed to dig up the ates and kuyas, who confirmed our suspicions that they were having happy hour and were attempting not to corrupt us young and innocent freshies. Suffice it to say, they wished.
Got home at 6am, Saturday morning, slept, woke up at 12, ate, went back to bed, fell asleep at around 3pm, woke up and 6pm, and went back to bed at 9pm. Woke up at 6am this morning, and here I am somewhere in Session Road, attempting to finish an overdue paper.
I love my life.
PS: moving to my new place tomorrow. P1-25 Gabriela Silang. Hint, hint. Send me something, I'd have time to read letters and dismantle the occasional bomb.