Last Saturday, me and a few of my college friends met up for dinner. The last time we had seen each other was in December 09.
We had dinner reservations at Fely J’s. I did a little window-shopping first. Dropped by Powerbooks and Nike. Then I got hungry.
I found Fely J’s and saw Diane and Suy already waiting. “Bat ang payat mo?”, Diane points out. I saw this coming. I shot one back, “Ba’t ang taba mo?” And she admits. I haven’t seen Diane in years. She’s still noisy. And loud. Suy looks the same, her I’m-a-businesswoman-and-you-guys-aren’t look fits her so well.
Then comes AJ and Laine. They’re a happy couple who likes to tweet. And eat. In comes Pat. She claimed to have worked straight hours. We ordered Crispy Pata, Sinigang na Bangus Belly, Sisig and rice. There was already a small plate of chicharon bulaklak on our table. We had almost emptied it until Diane came to the last piece. To her surprise, she found a strand of hair underneath it. I tell everybody it’s pubic hair, and they react in disgust. They think I’m sick. The waiter agrees to replace it with another plate of sisig. Then I begin opening my mouth.
Their sisig tasted like shit. Like a cat that was recently murdered in the kitchen. Added a few onions, chopped chilli peppers, a dash of crap and spit and voila. Though it was served on a sizzling plate, it was never crunchy. TANGINA MO FELY J, AYUSIN MO YAN.
PJ calls and asks where the resto is. I tell him to Google Map it. While waiting for DJ Napi, we talk about batchmates. Diane, the girl with a lot of stories, tells us Dop has an Indian roommate in Singapore, causing me to blurt out “Dinesh”. I forgot they had history.
“Di nga?! Naging si [insert girl's name] at [insert boy's name] ba?!” Diane, c’mon. I thought you knew all the stories.
Everybody asks everybody where they work, and what they do. We learn that Diane is a crappy boss. She doesn’t like to work from home and doesn’t tolerate idle time. Boo. Meanwhile, Suy’s phone dies. While we’re on the topic of phones, Pat says her iphone has PAID apps.
We laughed and talked and laughed. Someone suggested ice cream, so we called the waiter, and asked for our bill. Php 2,360. We paid, took a picture and left the bitch like a bloody tampon.
On our way to Caffe Ti-Amo, Suy was mentioning how FabFoto is the best company in the world, now that they’ve branched out with Evan Rosal as the Asian Manager. AJ takes out his new iTouch and slaps me in the face with it. I’m kidding. We talk Twitter and walk on.
We get to the ice cream shop and get in line. I order the Strawberry Gelato. GE-LA-TO. Such a faggoty word. You have to say with you’re tongue out on the “LA” so it’ll sound right. PJ gets Blueberry cheescake and rice (why the fuck would you order rice flavor?) Pat went for Chocomint, and the happy couple made us drool by ordering a waffle gelato. WIth a slice of kiwi to tick me off.
We laugh and talk and laugh. A few seconds later, a waitress gets stuck in the hanging beads divider. Diane thinks the tomboy-looking-GAP-sweater-wearing cashier is the owner of the ice cream place. Suy thinks otherwise. (I think the only way someone knows you own a business is if you look like Suy). A group of douchebags next to us leave. We see Cosmopolitan and Men’s Health magazines on their table. FAGGOTS.
Suy says “Soldier” and we laugh for the last time. Diane says something about her boyfriend, prompting us to end the night (a crappy boss, I tell you). We didn’t even drink beer! We wave goodbyes and swear to meet again. I swore alright. Fuckin’ sisig.
FYI: The only reason I wrote this is because Diane and Pat told me to. Girls are annoying. And sometimes, the only way to shut them up is to give in.
The happy couple, Suy the businesswoman, Pat Purple, DJ PiJong, Conyo-speaking Diane and me, the idiot.
