Yesterday, me and a few friends went for a night out at Gateway.  For one, it’s Jamie’s birthday.  For two, me and Erik have literally been hustling Cheryl twice over to NAIA only to realize that her flight was scheduled for 1 AM; apparently, airports use a 24-hour notation.  For three, we all wished we were at the Incubus concert, but lo and behold, they came a few days ahead of payday.

Since it was a coffee session that ended up with five of us drinking three buckets of beer, I find that coffee is not exactly something I’d be drinking a lot of while I’m here.  If there’s any place built for the massive consumption of brewed coffee, it’s definitely my hometown of Baguio City.  Manila, in contrast, is a place built for the massive consumption of cold drinks.

My “optimism” and “perkiness” irritates Che a bit: I’m not the kind of person who would cheer someone up, whether it’s a missed flight, a second prostate, a third nipple, or the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.  I blame this all on energy drinks: Extra Joss, Sting, Cobra, Bacchus, V-On.  Not without side-effects, though: save for being a happy jackass, I threw up my lunch this afternoon.  I called up a friend, who said that I only have my happy sachets and bottles of “energy” to blame for hurling out a Crispy Chicken Burger and bringing me a step closer to a stomach ulcer.

“So what do you recommend?” I asked.

“Stay off the caffeine and drink some damn water,” he replied.  “Better yet, buy a sports drink.”

Freaking hell, I hate MiniStop.