(no subject)
It's been a while since the Bench got together for a beach trip. The sun shone on us the whole weekend and during the first night, the sky was inexplicably clear so Manny, Iea, Sara, Fort and I stayed on the shore for hours just staring at stars and the dark clouds that passed by in procession. I initially had doubts on the authenticity of the scene's awesomeness, since Sara, Fort and I were tripping, but the sober married couple assured us that the sky was indeed, glorious that night.
The party started swinging the next day, when the second batch arrived and everyone was in a tizzy with all the booze, food, and lack of clothing. Jenn Burg had another classic vodka-fueled performance, this time incorporating synchronized swimming (by herself)and back flips into her repertoire.
One thing I noticed with the Bench is that when we like something, we just have to do it again, and we start planning the second time around while we are still in the midst of enjoying the first. So while Iea, Cori, and I were lounging around the patio, cool breeze in our hair, warm sun on our faces, we started planning our next trip. We decided on Siquijor, on November 30, the next long weekend. Booking rooms and tickets are easy, but getting our men to come along is hard. Manny needs well-organized, detailed plans, which is proving difficult with Iea at the helm. Chris, as usual, needs dependable wifi. Raymz needs to get over his fear that Cori will spite some old person in the province and get dragged to hell.
I should probably have told Chris about our plans, but I figured it'd be better to surprise him. It will also give him less time to weasel his way out of it.
That night Chris called me up and told me about his fishing expeditions. I had to stand and take the call away from the group, away from the "zut alors!" and cracks about cheese and Germans. "I caught a fish!" he said excitedly,"like Davy fuckin' Crockett!" More like King fuckin' Triton. The man used a trident for heaven's sake. A trident! The next dat, he caught forty fish in an hour ("With a trident too?" Regina asked incredulously."No," I replied, "but he may have also baked bread in the process and fed three hundred people."). So he can fish, hunt for mushrooms, tend a vegetable garden, and pick good wine. This man is proving himself to be a very capable provider. If the crisis gets any worse, I will move to a farm and buy him carabao and a machete so he can sustain us while I stay home and give myself pedicures.
Hey, I had to endure a weekend of being at the butt-end of French jokes. I deserve to be treated well.
All in all, we finished two cases of San Mig Premium, three bottles of Absolute Vodka, three bottles of wine, a bottle of Frangelico, and a bottle of Black Label whiskey (I have a theory that the quality of your alcohol grows inversely versus the number of years separating you from your college graduation).Five digital cameras documented almost every move made, drink taken, and outfit worn. Manny said this has to be annual thing from now on. I have no doubt that it will be.
The party started swinging the next day, when the second batch arrived and everyone was in a tizzy with all the booze, food, and lack of clothing. Jenn Burg had another classic vodka-fueled performance, this time incorporating synchronized swimming (by herself)and back flips into her repertoire.
One thing I noticed with the Bench is that when we like something, we just have to do it again, and we start planning the second time around while we are still in the midst of enjoying the first. So while Iea, Cori, and I were lounging around the patio, cool breeze in our hair, warm sun on our faces, we started planning our next trip. We decided on Siquijor, on November 30, the next long weekend. Booking rooms and tickets are easy, but getting our men to come along is hard. Manny needs well-organized, detailed plans, which is proving difficult with Iea at the helm. Chris, as usual, needs dependable wifi. Raymz needs to get over his fear that Cori will spite some old person in the province and get dragged to hell.
I should probably have told Chris about our plans, but I figured it'd be better to surprise him. It will also give him less time to weasel his way out of it.
That night Chris called me up and told me about his fishing expeditions. I had to stand and take the call away from the group, away from the "zut alors!" and cracks about cheese and Germans. "I caught a fish!" he said excitedly,"like Davy fuckin' Crockett!" More like King fuckin' Triton. The man used a trident for heaven's sake. A trident! The next dat, he caught forty fish in an hour ("With a trident too?" Regina asked incredulously."No," I replied, "but he may have also baked bread in the process and fed three hundred people."). So he can fish, hunt for mushrooms, tend a vegetable garden, and pick good wine. This man is proving himself to be a very capable provider. If the crisis gets any worse, I will move to a farm and buy him carabao and a machete so he can sustain us while I stay home and give myself pedicures.
Hey, I had to endure a weekend of being at the butt-end of French jokes. I deserve to be treated well.
All in all, we finished two cases of San Mig Premium, three bottles of Absolute Vodka, three bottles of wine, a bottle of Frangelico, and a bottle of Black Label whiskey (I have a theory that the quality of your alcohol grows inversely versus the number of years separating you from your college graduation).Five digital cameras documented almost every move made, drink taken, and outfit worn. Manny said this has to be annual thing from now on. I have no doubt that it will be.