The Sick, The Bad, And The Nasty (a.k.a. My Gold Coast Boyz Trip Re-Cap)

Currently Listening To :: Reminiscing :: Madison Avenue

As I cough up a lung here, I can't believe that two of my mates' bucks weekend up at Surfer's Paradise is nothing but a memory. That and this fresh lung sitting in front of me.

Taking my first day of Annual Leave since my trip to Indonesia:Singapore:Bali, the taste was indeed palpable as I approached Sydney Domestic Airport with minimum luggage and maximum expectations. As we arrived at the check-in one by one, the excitement grew. Pulling on our fresh [8008boyz] t-shirts made specially for the trip by the Master Chop himself, we looked like a real bunch of 14 larrikins ready for a weekend of fun. Not even MosHos fractured leg nor Jookboy forgetting his ID could stop us; we were ready to fly to the land of sun, surf, Japanese tourists and neverending beach.

Highlights from the weekend included a lot of firsts. First time playing a full 18 holes of golf (no carts either!), first time going go-carting (flying at 75km/h a few inches from the ground is something everyone should experience). First time to go to the same bar 3 nights in a row (inside information from locals is never wrong). Oh, and for anyone trying to stop smoking, buy yourself a tobacco pouch, some filters and roll-up paper. Not only is it cheaper, but I guarantee you that the frustration involved in having a smoke will make you want to give it up all together.

Most importantly, it was our first real boyz trip ever. Sure, I've made trips overseas with some of the usual suspects such as Kevin '2 Drink Glasses' Chung, Anton 'The Phantom' Tan, and Jo-Di 'Kitty' Ng, but never has it been 17 boyz in a new city, celebrating one of the biggest steps two of our best friends will take in their lives. Marriage.

By the time we flew out on Sunday afternoon, I was ready to crash. However, our Jet* flight didn't have the best of pilots at the helm; by the time we touched down in Sydney, I was ready to kiss the tarmac like my name was Pope John Paul II. However, I refrained, for fear that the shakiest landing in memory would make me hurl my breakfast if I so much as tilted forward to tie my shoe laces. That, and if I bent over, I might not come back up.

But besides the near miss of me lying on the tarmac of Sydney Airport choking back a mix of alcohol, grease and smoke, I can't talk about a boyz trip without touching on the unwritten and unsaid code of 'what goes on tour, stays on tour'. That's not entirely true...I would say that it's more a case of 'what goes on tour, get's selectively culled and comes out from storage a few years later. Watch this space? Nonono...

Because a gentleman never tells. Like a friend said to me the other night, "men are transparent, just like cling-wrap."

I said, "No, I think we're more translucent. We're more opaque."

"Like baking paper?"

"Just like baking paper."