Thursday, October 05, 2006


Not quite finished yet.

After Speed Dating, N and I began to talk about Drinking. Not water, mind you. Wine, beer, all those alcoholic stuff.

When I told her I haven't come across speed dating because I haven't been exactly making rounds of the bars in Metro Manila, her eyes completely bugged out.

N: Well, where do you and your drinking buddies go?

O: Which drinking buddies?

N: Anyone you go have "inuman sessions" with. (She may actually believe I am dumb enough not to know -- not for a moment realizing that I may be being sarcastic) ((or, she may not have "sarcastic" in her vocabulary, I now realize).

O: I don't drink alcohol, eh.

N: OMG (expletive), are you a teetotaler? (ah, but she knows this! her range of motion reveals itself)

O: Would that be so bad?

N: That is like, so stuck up, you know. Only control freaks don't drink.

O: What you've just said is quite similar to what brought gay and lesbians to such angry stupor over rights. They are human too.

N: But not drink? I can't see why.


N, let me try to explain.

It tastes bad. I indulge in every heavenly food in the universe -- completely debasing the theory of me being a champion for Temperance. But beer tastes like piss to me. Wine tastes like piss to me --- classier piss but piss nonetheless.

Cigarettes --- you may ask next. Tastes like acrid smoke. I'd sooner suck a tambutso.

Drugs --- you ask next. Completely unnecessary since I create my own hallucinogens. My Imagination can forge a rip in time big enough to suck me to another dimension and allow me to stay there for a month, if I want to.

Sex --- you slyly ask next, you fox, you vixen, you. This is the only thing which I have an actual vow of abstinence for; a promise uttered and intimated to the BVM at the tender age of 11 years old --- eons before I had an idea what sex was. None before marriage, no playing with fire. So far, no regrets, and if you would kindly refer to my Winnie the Pooh complications, you would also know why it's not so hard to keep the promise. Besides, sex isn't a vice, I think. It's an extension of love. Only without the latter does it become grimy.

So you see, I am not an utterly complete Teetotaler. And even if I am, I deserve to exist the way I believe I must. Angels preserve me like sweet apricots which I just hope would not rot forever in the cupboard of some decripit basement for all time.

Now, N. Can we move on to talk about something interesting this time? Like how floor tiles are manufactured and why tennis balls are fuzzy? With the life I've been living, I can promise you I actually know. :)

No comments:

Post a Comment