Auto Fellatio

I got a major hangover this morning. I woke up wearing yesterday’s shirt and my underwear only. (un)Lucky for me, I was in our house but was in my brother’s room and so I assumed he transferred to my room because who would want to sleep next to your drunken brother in his briefs?

The moment I opened my eyes, was the moment that I thought a horse kicked me in the head. It was as if all life was flushed out of my system and I (un)feel like Yuri from the Japanese movie Dead Girl Walking. I stood up slowly and went to the CR to take a piss. I noticed I didn’t get a morning hard-on which validated my idea that it was indeed going to be a fucked up morning-after. Here we go again, I said to myself.

I was drunk last night, that’s for sure. But there were gaps in my memory on what had transpired. These are the times that my superego is replaced by my ego and id, so I hoped I didn’t screw a baboon. Apparently, people have been telling me that I turn into a different persona every time I get drunk. I get a little happy and touchy, but mostly happy. Fucking happy that I turn into a local ghetto in the way I speak, mainly telling people around me to fuck each other just for fun. So I tried remembering, for example, how I was able to get home, and what time we left the bar. Did I finish my drink? Have I made indecent proposals to indecent people yet again? I also checked my body for any piercing on the nipple or belly button or if a carrot had been stuffed in my anus. I said a little prayer of thanks as I found no carrot on any hole that I have. No betacarrotine for me!

Rewind fifteen hours earlier:

After “masturbating” my clients and officemates, I got off from work but didn’t really feel like going home yet. Then I remembered getting an invitation from my friend MC to come to his former boss’s farewell party at a nearby bar in Makati, but didn’t really want to ask him again if the offer’s still up because I wasn’t really close to his boss in the first place. The sound of free flowing beer (FFB!!!) was very tempting though [After a few bottles, his boss and I were as tight as my ass].

What better thing to do on a Friday early evening but to have my Timezone Greenbelt card reloaded and sing my heart out in their videoke? So I busted my nut surviving the songs of Survivor and gave injustice to the songs of the blind-man-walking-who-fell-face-flat-on-an-Obama-campaign-trail Stevie Wonder. After giving my vocal chords its daily exercise –meaning some bastard sneaked in while I had my card reloaded– I decided to take the ride home. As I was walking to the terminal, I heard a band performing in the dining center of The Enterprise so I thought checking them out. Next thing I know, I was in front with the band and about to sing With You by Chris Brown –who is actually black– when MC called my cellphone asking where I was. Long story short, I rendezvous with him in front of a lamely named bar and greeted Hello Kitty, his former boss.

The bar was almost full with cavorting yuppies although it’s unnoticeable on the outside. I was re-introduced to the officemates of my friend which I didn’t find hard for the fact that I once worked in the same company, although I didn’t have to masturbate my bosses there; bunch of niceness, those people.

If there’s one thing I learned thru the years I’ve been drinking, it’s that drinking alcohol is like fucking yourself real slowly. I found a spot between PeePee and J as MC went out to meet his blog friends to have a quick dinner outside. There I was, just keeping to myself as I drank my first bottle. Then, as we fuck ourselves with more bottles consumed, all the inhibitions were shed and found ourselves laughing at each one’s anecdotes.

My last recollection was that I showed MC a text message from this girl I’ve been going out twice for two months now (haha! ang hina ko) , and I asked what did the “I luv yah” part meant. All things after that were done by my subconscious –the real, uncensored me.

I just finished chatting with MC now who filled me in with the gaps in my memory. He said that for the most part, they were delighted of me and Hello Kitty even said that I should come with them the next time they go out. By the way, Hello Kitty is a lesbian. MC said I was hitting on her but didn’t catch what I said to her. What he heard was Kitty’s reply, “Boy din ako eh,”. Two years ago, during my last Christmas party with their company, I was also drunk and tried hitting on Kitty as well. I must really love lesbos. =)

He said I also made comments regarding him being a match with one of his two blogfriends whom he brought along to the party. Although I feel like I’m in heaven observing awkward uncomfortable situations experienced by other people, I didn’t know that his two blogfriends are actually lovers, which made any tension more…uhm…intense. So I’m pretty sure MC would be reading this, and I’m really sorry friend. Like what I’ve said, I’m gonna be extra nice next time we meet up. =)

I’ve been in many golf (gulp) sessions before. Sometimes I really get drunk and sometimes my alter-ego takes over. Like what I’ve said earlier, I think it is very much like fucking with one’s self real slowly. A friend made a statement before, referring to drinking alcohol as looking down the well of your soul – where deepest thoughts and well-kept secrets are taken out, pail by pail, as you take in more alcohol, bottle by bottle; he was drunk when he said that, by the way. Being drunk truly tests your core personality, what your beliefs are and how you react to things differently than when you are in the comfort zone of soberness. Oddly enough, I was able to straighten out some personal issues I had only when I experienced some of the highest levels of intoxication. Drinking can really be a theraphy, you see, so don’t follow Edu Manzano’s advice. He’s a sham, that drunken bastard.

There are some things you did while you’re drunk that you’ll only find out the day after from your friends. And just like having a one night stand, you will either hate yourself or light up a cigarette as you pat your back for a score well done the morning after. You will either swear not to have sex with yourself anymore, not again, until you die, or prep yourself for the next big night.
Eventually you will have another bottle of a nice cold beer and some sisig for pulutan with your friends in some cozy bar, listening to nice songs and talking about some fucked up friends that you had in common, whose elementary classmate shit on his trousers before, or planning your next get away for the third quarter of the year dahil marami kayo at quorum, and then you will realize that all your beer bottles are empty so you order for more beers…and ice…and some sizzling pulutan…vinegar as condiment…chicharon…beer…pulutan…sisig…beer…sex…

What am I doing? It's a Saturday night.

I should be fucking myself now.