Stockpile Of Saturday Obscenities

Initially, we were scheming to massacre a few vodka tonics at Tabu. I like Tabu because it has the same vibe as (the now deceased) RockCandy. Recently, Tabu has deteriorated its below-the-radar charm and has increasingly become conventional, what with the proliferation of them model imports that flock its dimmed corners like exotic-cracking parrots.

So we flicked off the idea of hanging out in Tabu like lint. My glamorous friend Nicodemus bullied our artist friend Mapplethorpe and myself into thinking that the next best thing to come near the fun quotient of a mind-blowing orgasm is to kick off the barhopping bender at Barcino. Barcino is this incredibly low-key but exasperatingly chic watering hole frequented by cliques of well heeled yuppies. This breed congregates on Saturday night complete with requisite twangs, logo-ed garbs and devastatingly beautiful faces. (Interesting side note: I glanced over a feature article of the owners of Barcino in a local rag and one of the guys behind the trendy joint is fondling my bisexual genes into hyperdrive. Yes, he’s THAT hot, in a roguish way.)

The upper section where we barged in was crammed with sweet-smelling, luxuriously accessorized crowd. Amidst the loud flashes of brands, swirling mishmash of laughter, and indiscernible loud conversations were the plush bags of the sophisticates sipping intoxicants. The combined price tag of the bags alone can cover the annual salaries of nine assistants in our office. If that isn’t obscene then I’m a bad-tempered prick for thinking so. The atmosphere was so hip my inner slob gasped for air. No, not really. Thankfully I wore garments that made me resemble something like a passable human being.

Nicodemus’ other set of friends arrived and created quite a stir: a couple of well-primped, handsome guys of indeterminate sexual leanings and a couple of head turning girls whose cleavages require a snorkel, curves that oblige a caution sign and two sets of legs that won’t quit. Introductions were traded and in my semi-drunk state I managed to strike hysterical conversations with the girls.

I was thick in conversation with Girl A (hereinafter referred to as Inverna) when a Johnny Walker-marinated yuppie squeezed in our conversation. Now I don’t mind getting into random banters with random drunks but this guy was awfully boring my spleen wanted to slide into coma. It was obvious that he was planning to hit on Inverna, who was giving him polite nods and socially de rigueur half-smiles. The way she’s enduring the unwanted conversation with him is switching into the attention span of a dead fly.

It was then that I noticed another guy two tables from us giving us an amused look. He was squinting the way you would flirt openly and I pretended not to notice just in case he was giving the doe-eye to another person standing behind me. I stared at my drink to avoid the flirty looks (that is now approaching a laser-like intensity). He’s probably locking his hormonal torpedoes on Primavera who was unaware and nodding like an inebriated woodpecker towards the equally hormone-crazed boring-beyond-belief yuppie who kept on latching her onto aimless talk.

“Let’s go to Members!” Primavera’s high-cheekboned guy friend brightly announced. Members being the notorious Members Only Section of the infamous Embassy Super Club.

“Isn’t Embassy padlocked?” I piped in.

“Members is open with liquor restriction up to two a.m.” Nicodemus helpfully informed my Embarrassingly-Out-Of-The-Loop tipsy self.

Nicodemus buzzed both cheeks of the snooty door girl and our gang filed in the bar section. Music was thumping but no one was dancing (or squirming like a worm after a downpour, a common move among the Makati Clubbing Set). The ambiance was tense, as if everyone was expecting a raid. The stunted atmosphere of faux fun strikes me almost…obscene. We finished a couple of drinks and split.

Next stop: Ascend. It was quite relaxed despite reeling from the same liquor ban past two a.m. as Embassy. The crowd was howling in glee when we came in and minimalist house music thumps with the tremor enough to send your heart to impale itself in your ribcage.

Since the bar was no longer selling drinks past the prescribed hour, which is a bummer, we got beers and margaritas for the girls on the sly. It felt like gargling contraband which costs way, way cheaper and unrestricted in my neighborhood convenient store.

The liquor ban isn’t obscene. The beer price is.