There's A World Out There?! Or...The Weekend That Was
The Adik's stat message: The Adik is sick.
The Other Adik's comment: Pagaling ka na so we can drink margaritas! (Get well soon so we can drink margaritas!)
The Adik's reply: Di ba kaya tayo iinom para gumaling ako? (Aren't we drinking so I'd get better?)
The fear was there and so was the self-doubt. I have taken an unwilling alcohol sabbatical; instead of drowning in pitchers of beer, I have devoted myself to drown in work for several weeks now. Going without alcohol or friends (whom I haven't seen in weeks) is very uncharacterstic of me. So when The Other Adik wanted to go out on Friday, I ignored initial fear, hesitation, a fever, and a swollen eye and went off to meet her at the Bar With The Most Awesome Happy Hour.
There wasn't an occasion, really. If anything, we drank to celebrate getting through a particularly tough week. Well, that and to just hang out since I haven't seen her in two weeks. I got to the place first and decided to order so we'd have our fill of happy hour. The waiter, seeing my swollen eye and suede boots, knew I was there for business: he didn't ask twice about my suspiciously large order of margaritas.
I don't know how long we were there or how many we drank. After all, it was happy hour and the only thing you need to count was how many drinks you can cram a minute before the everything doubles its price. At 55 bucks (daw) a glass, you know it was futile to count. As the glasses crowd our table, our conversations grew more slurred and my one-eyed vision became more blurry. We decided to that we had enough and headed somewhere we shouldn't to get some stuff and then maybe watch a movie while drunk; it seemed like a good idea at that time.
Stumbling along the lamp-lit streets of the city, we made it to the place we were headed to and then everything just mashes into hazy memories filled with potatoes, coke, and a couch. The say when you drink, you either lose your shoes or your diginity; this time I lost both. I woke up barefoot and not knowing where I was. The confusion, the throbbing head, and strangeness of the situation was a familiar mix I didn't realize I missed.
As we tried to eat and hold down breakfast, it dawned on me that I won't have as many Bacchanalian nights as I did. Maybe this night may be lost in the murk of memories of other drunken nights. I won't forget, however, that this was the first time I lost my shoes.