05012009

is the first time I took a trip on a bus. The portable classrooms at the high school I went to were nicer than the Greyhound station in Tucson. In my mind I'd pictured something like the Hogwarts Express, shiny, sleek, and modern - nope. The terminals are filled with carnies, and en route I couldn't get comfortable and felt like a whore in church, sweating into my hair and headphones for most of the two and a half hour ride.

The sofa at the Legacy resort takes the cake as the most uncomfortable one I've ever slept in, and I've surfed many a couch.

Showed up the next day at behemoth church to take pictures with family, it was little cousin's Christening/First Communion. Apparently they combine the two out here, and funny that they ditched the sacramental wine because of the pigflu outbreak. It was great to see grampa rocking a pair of Black Cat Jordan IIIs with his suit jacket on in church.

Back at the house, older folk drank bottles of wine and cases of some Michelob pomegranate/raspberry drink - not beer in my book. Got gleefully toasted for the Pacquiao fight, was scared for Manny until the second knockdown. The house exploded after the last left hook (really, what else do Filipino folk have to be proud about save for singing, dancing, and the P4P title). More medically inclined folk saved their elation for later, worried that Hatton had been paralyzed. I say, that's what the man gets for holding behind the head and throwing dirty punches. Pacquiao (and Puerto Rican lady) are two people I definitely wouldn't want cross with me. It's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt? Same rule applies with the Magic Mic.