A little older, a little drunker…

There’s no better way to greet your birthday than getting drunk with your closest buds. Exactly what I did the other day when I bought buckets of Red Horse (San Mig Lite for the wusses, haha!) for several of my MTC friends at Esquinita somewhere in Sgt. Esguerra. Thanks for burning my pockets and getting my “Armani” blouse wet. And yes, pangarap nyo na lang talaga ako, sorry. Hahaha!

Thanks, guys! We’ll see each other on the 29th

How NOT to Approach a Woman

My bestfriend Monna and I were having some serious drinking at the Anthology Bar in Malate last night. Since it was Sunday, there weren’t too many people burning their livers on that particular night, but there were a handful of guys seated at the tables around us. To my left were two guys in black, one with metal studs decorating his lower lip and nose, the other with a face so boring I couldn’t even remember the details. To my far left is another table with three guys, one sporting a skinhead and a grey body-hugging shirt. I noticed that the hombres were stealing glances at our table, but of course, we paid them no attention and carried on with our drinking.

So there we were, minding our own business amidst the to-die-for memorabilia that Anthology is famous for. After an hour, I excused myself to go to the restroom. When I got back, there was a slight smirk on my BFF’s face.

Monna: Oy, bru. Yung guy dun sa table on your right…lumapit dito at tinatanong kung taga-Benilde ka daw.

Me: Huh? Anong sinabi mo?

Monna: Sabi ko hindi. Syempre, hello.

Me: Duh. Adik sya. Style nya bulok.

After downing a couple of bottles more, Monna got up to take her turn at the restroom. Guy with the metal studs came over to our table.

Him: Uh, hi. I just wanna ask if you’re from Benilde.

Me: Uh, no. Why?

Him: Ah, wala lang, I just thought you look familiar. What about your name?

Me: What about it?

Him: May I know your name?

Me: Can I not give it?

Guy with the metal studs walked away.

Twenty minutes later, when we were deep into conversation about heartbreaks and all that, the Skinhead guy sauntered over to our table and asked me pointblank:

Him: Miss, can I get your number?

Me: No.

Him: Oh, okay. Excuse me.

Skinhead guy walked away.

At this point, my bestfriend was doing a supreme effort not to burst out into fits of demented laughing. I was shaking my head and trying my best not to laugh out loud too. I don’t know who was worse, the guy who used a stupid question to get my name, or the guy who went straight to the point and had the damnedest nerve to ask for my number outright.

I signaled for the waiter and ordered more beer. Geez, guys. Whatever happened to “Can I buy you a drink?”

Alone, at last

Finally, after several years of planning and waiting, I moved into my own apartment. Although I’m still unsure whether to really classify the pad as an “apartment,” because it’s actually one big unit split into two, in which I now occupy the top part. Still, my house has a small living room, a kitchen, a bathroom and a small bedroom. So yeah, I guess it’s an apartment.

After I got my pretty hefty backpay from my previous employer in Alabang, I wasted no time plunking down a big portion of it for my rent money. I practically winced as I handed those crisp 1000 peso bills to my new landlord, but I told myself I’m doing the right thing. If the cash stayed in my ATM much longer, I would have spent it on beer, clothes, some fancy gadget, or worse, piles and piles of books from Booksale or Powerbooks.

A worthy investment, I must say. Although nothing beats buying your own place, renting is the most I can do as of the moment. Unless some ultra generous employer doubles my salary, buying property is not an option for me right now.

Actually, I’ve been “alone” for several years now, meaning I’ve been pretty much living on my own and out of my family’s jurisdiction. I’m pretty smug about it, mind you. Living alone is terribly hard, especially for the first few months. Aside from my own expenses, I also give cash regularly to my mom, who is already past sixty. Stretching my paycheck for two people is serious business. I had to sacrifice a lot of luho for this endeavor. But as hard as it is for me, I don’t regret it. My type of personality (and lifestyle) makes it necessary for me to be live alone, because I don’t want anyone, especially parental units, to meddle in my personal affairs.

So after living on dorms, rooms and cramped studios for a couple of years, I’ve finally found a pretty comfortable nest that I can call home. Sure, it’s still pretty bare, because I still have to save for major furniture and appliances, but it’s habitable. When I say habitable, it means I can sleep comfortably, do bathroom business, drink instant coffee and cook Lucky Me Pancit Canton, haha. I don’t have to be a domestic goddess just yet – I’m single. And the most important thing of all, I can do my writing stuff and work with practically no disruption from noisy housemates. I write for a living, and I’m willing to pay premium for absolute peace and privacy.

Downsides, I can name a few. Aside from the huge dent it’s making on my budget, there are times that being alone gets to you emotionally. Let me tell you, going home to an empty house can be depressing. There are moments I wished that there’s a lover waiting for me in my bedroom, who will take off my shoes from my tired feet. There are times I wished that someone can do my house chores for me, who can do the laundry, the cleaning, and have dinner ready for me when I get home from work.

But this is the price I have to pay for living on my own terms. After all the momentary doubts, I must say it’s worth it. It’s absolutely priceless being able to do any goddamn thing you want to do. I can walk around the house naked, drink beer and smoke inside the bedroom, or just stay in bed all day and forget about doing the dishes for a while. And yes, I can bring people over whenever I want. Be it friends or lovers, it doesn’t really matter. The stone walls of my domicile can contain the shrieks of ecstasy induced by the greatest of lovers, or mask the most heart-wrenching sobs during moments of depression.

So right now, I’m sitting pretty on my bouncy Airbed, merrily typing away on my laptop, drinking beer and taking it easy. My eternal favorite Sade is crooning in the background, the stereo speakers are cranked all the way up, but nobody’s going to scold me and tell me to keep it down. This is my domain, and nobody tells me what to do. I’m happy as a camper, and I love it.