Last night, after work, I met with a good friend, Van. She was with Alnor and Jin. Remember Alnor from my previous post? He was the arist in the bodypainting event I attended at the NAIA. Jin, their group's web designer, was introduced to me when I joined in. Van invited me to their meeting, since their venue, the nearby Mc Donald's, is just spitting distance from my office.

The three discussed stuffs about Van's company website, while I dreamt of having dinner at one of the nearby restos, my stomach is grumbling. Earlier thru YM, Van asked me about the bars around Eastwood -- I could not give her any, since I haven't set foot in any of those yet. She was kind of surprised since Eastwood is known for its upscale bars and restaurants. Restaurants, yes, I've been from one to another. But bars, no no.

Alnor left after their meeting has ended. Then the three of us, led by the very energetic Jin, dashed to a nearby bar. Van said that it'll be a drinking spree night for us. While the two gulped beer -- Red horse for Jin, San Mig Light for Van, I was happily sipping mango juice. Van insisted that I also drink with them. Instead, I ordered for a meal, chicken and rice with veggies on side. Eyebrows were raised upto the high heavens. "tol, iinom tayo, hindi lalamon". For the last time, Van attemted to offer me a beer, and for the last time, I declined. It was then I realized that I was the only one with a plate, eating. Everyone around has at least a bottle of beer with a tiny plate of pulutan on the side.

Beer, to me, is as repugnant as a child would hate an ampalaya. And I don't even like the scent of it, much less the taste. Bitter. I once tried it cold, it still tasted bitter. Tried it again, just because my companions are having it, still to no avail. My tastebuds are refusing it.

Same story goes with cigarettes. Way back in my teens, I was struggling to have a body like that of Kate Moss'. You know, skin next to my bones. A friend from ballet class liberally advised taking cigies. So up and away I climbed our roof (to make sure I won't get caught), and sucked the poor stick, forcibly drawing in everything I could down to my lungs. To. No. Avail. Hithit buga, ika nga. And like beer, my tongue complained of the bitter after taste.

I remember one time my Lola brought a lambanog in our house. It was given to her by one of her church mates as a pasalubong. The lambanong remained untouchd for days, sitting quietly in one corner of our kitchen. I pitied the poor thing and decided to give it a try. The weirdo in me thought it would be best if dilluted a part of it in iced tea. I mixed one fourth lambanog into the iced tea and gulped down the whole solution. The following morning, I woke up with an itch. Annoying pesky rashes have developed overnight!

So there goes short lived affair with these vices. I've accepted that ciggies and alcoholic drinks are not for me. But should my (drinking/smoking) friends invite me over, I surely won't mind. I'll just have another mango juice, or chocolate shake.