At Cris's invitation, we spent the day at Nine Waves to celebrate her grad and Paul Lim's birthday last monday. Attendance was low - Me, Yna, Cris, Paul Lim & Cris (duh!), Jemai, Jon, Greg, and a very late Jonar - which meant more food for everyone, and lunch was on Cris.

For a wave pool resort located in the middle of nowhere, er, San Mateo, it wasn't bad, amenities-wise. If one finds themselves desperate to at least imagine themselves at the beach with waves splashing, this is the place to be, only a good 30 minutes from Philcoa. Warning though, the wave pool is only turned on when there are 25 or more people in the pool (and then turned off when there's suddenly less). And the level of service is quite horrible, and there is the unavoidable and very noticeable blaring of the Nine Waves jingle every fifteen or so minutes. While it may sound like the refuge of the desperate, with the presence of desirable company (as there was today), it becomes almost fancy.

Tags: me, summer
Current Mood: okay

"Do you use a (panty) liner?"

Since Jon started working in trade marketing, he seems to have touched onto his more feminine side. He has become the go to guy for the advice on milk baths, lotions (Aveno), and napkins (I quote, "Have you heard of Sisters? Maganda yun and cheap!"). It has also made him the king of most inappropriate questions ever. Although it's not something the promise of product samples can't fix.

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Jemai had just returned from his grad trip to Paris, where he was able to hear Sharapova's grunting from the bleachers at the French Open (hate him!). As his pasalubong, he gave moi a pocket Moleskine, something I've wanted for a long time but just never had the will to shell out cash for.

On our way back to the real world from spending the day at Nine Waves with Cris, Paul, Yna, Greg, Edgar, Jon, and a very late Jonar, we agreed that the worst thing about going to Europe is that when you get back to your third world country home, everything just feels so blah. Nothing seems as beautiful as Paris with its free pooper scooper stations in parks, or the Renaissance paintings at the Hermitage, or even something as quaint as drinking a warm beer at a London pub. You miss the smell of rain on the old roads, or the whishing sound of the street cleaner, or the meaningful conversations with random locals. It seems as if even their street food kicks ours in the balls. I still remember buying sugar crusted belgian waffles topped with strawberries and whipped cream at the market in Sweden, I miss the still warm waffle cones topped with mounds of ice cream, or the blue collar fish and chips served in cones of old newsprint, and even Milan's pizza-by-the-pound. In Europe, it feels like people constantly take moments to live and to breathe in what makes life richer. I miss that. Visiting countries in Southeast Asia and even the US doesn't make me wish the place I called home were somewhere else, but visiting the cosmopolitan areas of Europe does. And having Jemai back recounting his Paris adventures somehow makes me feel that all over again.

Tags: me
Current Mood: contemplative