-
Previously:
Gossip Girl: Bed Aftermath Part 1
They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but I think three letters are enough to adequately describe this photo.
"Honey, I read your blog," Arlan said. "Alam mo ba, may haters ka? Nakakaloka!"
"Actually, it's not me they hate," I quipped. "It's you. They hate you and Gino. Ang maldita mo kasi."
"Gaga. Ikaw ang maldita," A said. "I was saying sorry to you last night for being late. Ano sabi mo? 'Isang pitcher!' Sabay irap."
"Ako naman, bili agad ng Kamikaze!" he said laughing.
"Oh my God! I'm so sorry honey! I didn't mean it."
"Of course you did. Kilala kita. (I know you.) When someone pisses you off, they have to make it up to you."
"Ahahahaah fucker ka. Pero nasobrahan ata ako. I did something ..." I said and stopped.
"What?"
"I can't say it. Nakakahiyaaaaaa. (It's too ... uhm, embarrassing.)"
"Arte. Ano na nga?"
Earlier that day, I woke up with a massive headache. Groan. Fucker. I was still trying to recall the sequence of events last night. There was a birthday party, then we went back home, then we went to the club.to meet other friends. It was quite a night; lots of dancing, booze, and men.
My senses were starting to slowly revive when I suddenly smelled something. My room smelled a little ... funny. I suddenly realized I had guests and I frantically tried to trace the scent before everybody else wakes up.
I finally tracked it down to ... hmmmm, my laundry basket? The scent was disgusting. I still couldn't figure out what it was until finally I reached in and realized it was ... urine. Oh my God! I was horrified. It can't be. Did I actually piss on my clothes?
Apparently, I did. In the middle of my drunker stupor. My shirts, jeans, polos, underwear, shorts ... all of it was drenched in my vodka-, tequila-, cranberry-, soda-, juice-, and wine-flavored piss. My poor, sodden clothes. It smelled ... horrific.
Years from now, when we are old and grey and my friends and I would reminisce about the good old days, when we were young, beautiful and ... drunkards, we'd probably be talking about all the times I got fucking wasted.
"Do you remember when you passed out in Bed?"
"Or the time you were puking in Bed?"
"Or, outside Bed?"
"In the middle of Malate?"
"In Republiq?"
"In Distillery?"
"Or when you were too wasted you actually went home with that guy????"
The list goes on. And on ... and on ... and on ...
I once said a man has got to choose his vices; and I ... I've chosen mine. Men and liquor. But I did promise myself to never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever drink too much ever again.
But then again, you and I both know me. Until the next party.
-
