Ibiza Reunion

I've never considered stilettos to be an ideal shoe pairing for a g-string bikini. But then, I've never been to Ibiza before.

To my right are women laying suggestively on top of concrete islands in the middle of the swimming pool. Bodies and bikini's putting the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue to shame. Stiletto's stored safely at the edge of the pool.

To my left is a sea of tanned, chiseled, perfect six packs. Too many to count. Not a single chest hair unwaxed. Not a single male eye-brow unmanicured.

Ahead, a crowd is forming around a stage and there's a DJ warming up the audience with House Music.

...doush doush doush de de doush doush doush....

It's funny that this should be called House Music. I've never heard it at my house. Never the less, it's nice. Nice because I'm surrounded by friends so close that they can make even this place feel like home.

And, maybe, just maybe, I'm starting to like techno.

Every few minutes, the rhythmic thump of the music is interrupted by the roar of an airplane passing very closely overhead. The planes close enough that their shape fills one third of my overhead view.

...doush doush doush de de doush doush doush.... 
...doush doush doush de de doush doush doush....
CUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRSSSSSSSHHHHHH
...doush doush doush de de doush doush doush.... 
...doush doush doush de de doush doush doush....

It feels as though we are right at the end of the runway. And it just adds to the energy of the crowd, which is now a synchronized, pulsing, mob of skin and sweat.

Were it not for the fact that Ibiza was chosen as the location for our one year reunion, I can comfortably say that I would never have found myself in this place. It's not exactly 'my scene'. Yet, now that I'm here, I'm shocked to say it, but Ibiza rocks!