Night Out

   I had a lot of fun last night.  Too bad I didn’t bring my own digital camera, so the pictures will have to wait until next time.  Although I must point out that a few things didn’t go according to plan:

  • I didn’t get really drunk and wasted;
  • I didn’t get to watch the UP Baguio Lantern Parade, much less attended Pasiklaban, and;
  • Because I’m not drunk, I’m blogging with a really benign hangover.

   With bullet-points over and done with, let’s get to blogging.

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   Last night, me and a few friends from high school got together to celebrate Christmas the best way we could: good food, good drink, and good companionship.  There was Dette and her boyfriend Bep, our two engineers Lincoln and McJames, our future engineer Chedan, our registered nurse Aaron, our future registered nurse Mickey, our insurance agent Haidee, our future events-planner Katz, Jayson and his wife Inin, and our future pharmacist Rhoda.  My good friend Noel couldn’t come to the party because he had a company Christmas party to attend, but showed up for a couple of minutes to say hello.

   We started off the night by having dinner at Kubong Sawali by Military Cut-Off Road.  “A bite to eat” is a nuanced expression: since it’s Christmas, we ordered three bilao‘s of mixed seafood platters that included octopus, grilled squid, tuna sashimi, steamed mussels, steamed tilapia, and rellenong bangus.  While I’m not the biggest fan of seafood, I had a particular liking for the squid.  The tuna sashimi, while not very fresh, was quite good even if the wasabi obviously was the kind that comes in a tube.

   Because it was about time I treated my friends, I decided that a round of beers at 18 BC at Legarda Road to prime our stomachs was just the way to do it.  Then, at Aaron’s suggestion, we headed off to Samurai Comedy Bar, found at the basement of La Azotea.

   I can’t say that I like comedy bars: I’m not a fan of gay humor.  But if anything, there’s something enjoyable about comedy bars if you’re not dragged into the stage to interact with a gay dude.  It got very funny when both Jayson and Bep were dragged into said stage.  I just hope that that they didn’t hear me calling them “animal food-trough wipers” on the way out.  Ah, what I wouldn’t do to find a comedy bar inspired by “Monty Python.”

   We headed off to Nevada Square to end the night.

   Pictures to follow… something tells me this will be better if I posted pictures.

Gala Gall

   Last night, me and a few friends scored invites at a gala dinner sponsored by Shell Northern Luzon, held at the Baguio Country Club.  It’s a lot like a Hollywood buffet, without Wolfgang Puck, the caviar canapés, and Jack Nicholson.  It wasn’t bad… but as long-time Marochaholics would already know by now, I’m not at my happiest in corporate-sponsored dinners.  All four of us – me, Dette, Bep, and Bonnierick – were underdressed.  In our blue jeans and rubber shoes, we stuck out like sore thumbs in a sea of three-piece suits and evening gowns.

   As much as I’d like to write about the “Jingle Shell Rock,” I would rather have it that it never happened.  It’s like a bad hangover that ended up with a menopausal old woman getting pregnant by your seed.

   While I like to have my own fun at the expense of rich people, even I know when I’m supposed to feel a bit of shame in being underdressed.  Thank goodness that Dette’s family was there and registered all three of us boys for the event, or else we would have been booted out for being common folk in the same social strata as gas boys.

   Not that there’s anything wrong with filling up gas tanks, but when the waiter is better dressed than you are, you might as well wish you dissolved into the glass carafé that holds your water.  Or if you’re like me on a lucid interval, you would have approached the table with the most glamorous-looking people, unzipped your pants, and gave them a healthy helping of the bubbliest champagne from the very depths of your bladder.

   That’s for jacking up oil prices, bitch!  While I’d like to give the next ass a Belgian chocolate fondant from… uh, my ass, that wouldn’t sit (so to speak) too well with anybody.

   I half-expected that waiters would take up my order of binagoongang baboy and free soup, but I forgot that this wasn’t my usual fare from turo-turo: this was a buffet.  A snooty one where “bistek Tagalog” is “beef striploin” and “chopped bacon” is a misnomer for bits that come off a plastic can.  Because I’m not well-acquainted with dinner-table etiquette, I assumed that I should just take a little bit of food and not go back for a second helping.  Then we all realized that the buffet table ran out of dessert.

   Don’t get me wrong: I had fun… sort of.  Pictures will follow.