It was no surprise, the other tables emptying as the night progressed, which could probably be provoked by the ruckus we all made. We celebrated Mo’s (insert preferred number here) post-birthday (September 22 was her birthday), and I sometimes believe birthdays are supposed to be like that. Wild, large, and tight. And yes, I’m still talking about birthdays.
The notorious Jologs of the Dumas-Goethe workshop—an expanding circle of indefinable fellows other than, well, notorious—converged at the Elbow Room last Saturday, all giddy since the last time we met was in May. Giddy may seem to be too shy a word; the following photos speak for how it all turns out.
The notorious Jologs of the Dumas-Goethe workshop—an expanding circle of indefinable fellows other than, well, notorious—converged at the Elbow Room last Saturday, all giddy since the last time we met was in May. Giddy may seem to be too shy a word; the following photos speak for how it all turns out.
Ynna Serena, The Bullfrog, Yumburger Miro, Real Lady Netty, Child Star Phillip, Single No More Keith, and Her Highness, Mo.
With Bea, lady in yellow, who we rarely see. And that woman with the lovely smile, that’s Peachy.
We are puggeh.
That’s Mo’s pseudo-G.I. Greg, who posited we were in Pampanga.
The circle. Next stop, Netty’s birthday.
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And speaking of birthdays, let’s segue to familial matters here. Today is my sister’s birthday. And also the day Ondoy wrecked havoc on us last year. Let us just pray the storms will keep us strong.
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