10.12.13; Bloated beach bunny from Batangas to bedroom; 02:16
No. of rolls of films to be developed immediately: 3. Prize/s won for the games: 2-inch high “piggy” bank. Last week’s blooper: An officemate/Triumph dealer made me undress and try on an A70 bra. No. of officemates turned friends/Friendsters acquired after the recently concluded Team Building: 1. No. of enemies/room mates turned to friends after the recently concluded Team Building: 0. (Not that I have the time to declare truce let alone think it’s my fault.) No. of men enslaved after my peepshow in the beach: Imaginary figure.
Look what time it is. I should be patiently waiting for the Olongapo-bound Saulog bus right about now. But hey, after that three-day stress inducing, stomach bulging, bone creaking, romantically/sexually disappointing vacation, I have no other option than care less if the voice team could reach its service level.
Besides, I’ve been away from home for so long. Imagine how dramatic my reunion was with my retainers.
(Isn’t this the time to narrate how my vacation went? Forgive me if it isn’t.) Out of myriads of activities to do the resort seflessly provided, I went on bingeing free food but ended up being sober the entire time, attempting to float in the beach, spreading the Photo crazy virus, trying to have the normal exchange of volleys, breaking my own rule against falling asleep during a full-body massage, meeting new people during the company’s Christmas party but end up losing in the raffles (darn!), having an inexplicable High Fidelity attack by introducing myself to the hair-deprived (that’s right, my usual attraction for long-haired gods TEMPORARILY disappeared into thin air) disc jockey, failing to bag home a throw pillow from the party and a signage disguised as coral from the resort, working for 12 hours and being a sarcastic snob.
I had a wonderful time all in all, but my favorite moment was when I climbed a [mini] mountain, looked over the undeniable pulchritrude around me, clutched the hand of a fellow Scorpion and yelled our stress away. It was emotionally breathtaking to see such a visual wonder again after squeezing my eyelids shut for a long, lung-busting scream. It was beautiful… and/but I had no yearning to have it photographed. It was too precious.
All that exposure to visual beauty allowed the resurrection of my once-in-a-blue-moon philospohical self. Since God produced nothing but beauty, so how come ugliness plague the earth? Is it how we perceive beauty? Or how we prioritize things that we see? Or am I just being a typical 80’s kid?
A week ago, I was disappointed not to see my beaming face among the family pictures dated a year ago. Oh well, I have been really busy last school year until today (or should I say I was born to have my hands full?). In fact, today witnesses me drooling for my pictures with my officemates and online-turned-offline chums to be printed the soonest time possible. I have no foresight for fun with my own family. HamboG once commented that I’d be having vacation with the same people I hang out with all the time. But the people I grew up with would continue to see me when I’m too drowsy to listen, when I’m too grouchy to exchange views and when I’m too ravenous to stay.
Funny. After my last relationship, I promised myself to fall for a family-oriented man the next time. Good luck to my ass.