May 31, 2008 § 1 Comment

There is a fine line that separates being drunk and being pissed-drunk. A very fine, thin line, that is almost non-existent. Almost.

I found out that the best, and worst, way to find out what the difference between them, is your girlfriend telling you everything that you we’re doing with a high level of inebriation the night before.

There is no problem with just being drunk. People understands you when your just drunk. They even pity you sometimes. When your just drunk, it’s either your quiet or otherwise loud, but all the same you’re coherent, and you make sense amidst being slurry and sluggish. You still have your marbles.

Yes there can be an unexplainable smirk in your face when your drunk, or a gloomy, emo-ish aura, and there’s a possibility that you might do something stupid, or something more stupid than normal, something you know you’ll regret, yet you still continue with it, because amidst that, all in all, you’re aware, you’re okay, you know what you’re doing, you know that that your inhibitions have been thrown out the window. You know very well that one good sleep is all you need, and you’ll laugh about it the day after. That’s okay.

What’s not okay is this, picture someone walking down the street at 2 am in the morning, gesticulating foreign gang hand signs to anyone he run across to. Shouting “Vatos Locos! Vatos Locos! Esse!”, disregarding the fact that he’s Filipino, all because he saw a portion of a mexican film before going out on the street. “Vatos Locos Esse!”

Imagine him dancing while singing Backstreet Boys’ I Want it That Way, in the middle of the road, still holding up the gang hand signs, his girlfriend running after him and shushing his mouth to be quiet and to stay put. He runs desperately away from her of course. He wants to sing, he wants to dance. He thinks his Nick Carter, gaddamit!

Imagine him riding a jeepney after that humiliating walk. There’s a handful of passenger with him. He starts waving to each one of them, smiling. His immediate seat mate was this old guy who looks like he likes to eat chickens alive. Our guy all of a sudden, gently leans his head on his shoulders. Yes bravery amidst the unknown. After a slap in the face from the girlfriend he got off the jeep.

Imagine him in a videoke bar, with no recollection of how he got there. Yet he still grabs the microphone and started belting out songs he’s been saving, and practicing, for these kind of occasions.

And at the same time, during all these, his bladder is full to the brim, he needs to piss badly. Badly. Yet he fails to do so.

And then imagine his shock the morning after, when his girlfriend is telling him how fucked up he was last night, that he has no recollection of anything I’ve written so far. He doesn’t belive it, and says “You’re shitting me right?” Then she shows him pictures from last night and all you could say was, “Oh fuck.”

That, sirs and ma’ams, is what being pissed-drunk is all about. Don’t care, don’t remember.

That was one hell of night! And yes, if you’re that thick enough, I’m talking about myself here.

I’m a self proclaimed responsible drinker, I know my limits, but anything can happen, when you’re with good company, and in a good conversation, you tend not to realize that you’ve already downed 5 bottles of Mucho. Props to Mr. Arvin Dauz, you never seem to fail when it comes to getting me pissed-drunk!

And by the way, Amici is one fucken cool place to get your ice cream, or gellato as they would call it.


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