The Non-Adventures of a Skimboard Babe Wannabe

We went into another one of our overnight skimming camp-outs again last Saturday. Corporate Bitch couldnt make it, but everyone else was there: Impervious Bitch, Goddess Bitch, Vampy Bitch, He-Bitch, and White Sand Beach. Yours truly, Succubitch, thinks shes finally getting the concept (yey me!): the object is NOT to pounce on the skimboard and kill it, its to keep it moving with its forward momentum as long as humanly possible. I stayed on the board this time. Except for the part where I fell off. Funny, I remember there was a time when I used to scoff at the whole idea of skimboarding: the running, thejumping, the standing on ones head, the falling on ones face, I mean really, all that work for 10-seconds worth of entertainment? These days however, I find myself obsessed with it, in a big way. I look at a Pangulong Gloria signboard and I see a skimboard waiting to happen. Larry-doesnt-rhyme-with-Harry had a quaintly simplistic idea of the dynamics of skimboarding. According to him, its a simple matter of I-tagak ang kahoy, dayun tindugan. Hm. And so he attempts to do just that. And promptly falls on his ass. Mehn, he was so bad at it, he made ME look good. Uh-huh, yeah thats what happens when you skip Kens Introductory Course on Skimboarding 101. Ken starts out by teaching you how to rub wax on the board * with feelings *. Then he goes on to teach you with all the loving patience God put into creating the universe. I dont know what it is about Kens capacity for patience that reminds me of the Divine. Maybe its the fact that when I ask him to hagis the board for me to chase after and pounce on fifty seven times, he does. Maybe its the fact that when I ask him to chase after me chasing after the board so I could grab on to his arm for balance (Pat: for crying out loud Liz, its skimboarding, not ballroom dancing), he does. Maybe its the fact that when I miss his arm and grab on to his hair instead, he lets me. I dont know. One time I asked him if he used to scream as much as I did when he first started out and he admitted he did *five-second silence* . . . uhm . . . manly screams.

So anyhoo, afterwards we played spin the bottle and they dared Larry-doesnt-rhyme-with-Harry to nibble on my earlobe, and it was like when I was ten all over again, when my Mommy dressed me up in the obligatory pink tutu and carted me off to ballet school, that is, I wasnt given the option to refuse. Larry-D-R-W-H asked for my age, my vital stats and how much I weighed. After some careful thought, I decided to chalk up his fascination for numbers to his being Chinese. He told me he found me quote: smart, attractive and cute, unquote. Ken told Jel he found her noisy, mole-y and white (?) Jel licked water off Kens belly. Larry-D-R-W-H kept grumbling about how the bottle picked him out more times than statistics would normally allow and BJ pointed out how he was lying down all stretched out and therefore took up more surface area than the rest of us sitting up in a circle did. Sensible guy, this BJ. Fun to be with too. He woke me up so we could make up songs together while he made noises with his guitar: oooh I was at the beach, when I saw a (strum strum strum stum). . . leech, and so I let out a screech. .. we made good music together. Later, he tried to dethrone Larry-D-R-W-H and recruited me for bestfriend. Jel commented on how Larry is actually quite cute and that for a Chinese guy, he doesnt look mongoloid. She sounded surprised. Like she thought Larry should look like William Hung. Hmm. . . so Jel thinks Larry is a Chinese guy who doesnt look like hes from Mongolia (?) Took me a while to work that out. Jel told me shes been noticing shes begun to sound like me lately and that she hoped I didnt mind. She said she likes the way I talk. I felt relieved. I had been noticing I had begun to sound like Jel lately. I like Jel. Shes comfortable in her own skin. Id like to meet someone like her. But then theres no one more like Jel than Jel. Except maybe for Paula. Paula can out-Jel Jel, out-Jorge Jorge, out-Sigrid Sigrid, and out-Leslie me. Pau can one-up anyone any day. Except on Tuesdays. Then there was some trouble with Jorges parental units for a while and so she had to go home. Things just werent quite as much fun anymore without Jorge around and so after a while, the rest of us packed up the tent and decided to head home too. Kris with the muscles and Ken both lost their slippers. I ask you, how is that done? How can someone lose a footwear, much less a pair? Much MUCH less, TWO pairs? We trudged to the highway and I stepped on all the cracks. Im not what one would call enthusiastic about superstition. Kris and her muscles walked behind me and I had a fuzzy feeling in my tummy. When Kris has your back, nothing in the world can harm you. On the way home, BJ picked a flower out of a weed patch and presented it to me. Ken picked a bur out of a weed patch and stuck it on my shirt when I wasnt looking. . .