During my first night at Sagada, I wasn’t surprised to find a whole shelf of wines and spirits brandished at every sari-sari store. What else is the best way to counter the chilling cold but a bottle of rhum and tequila?
The problem is, I’m a bad drinker. How bad? Oh, in so many ways!
My tongue gets loose easily so if you’ve told me a secret, a very, very dark secret, better make sure that I don’t get drunk. Because if I did, all hell would break loose! You’re hell, at least.
And I also get tipsy with just a couple of shots of tequila. No kidding. That’s why I’m a kill-joy in a drinking session. I would take what you give me (in the cold night of Sagada, anything to relieve the shivering would be a a warm welcome for me) and down it in a flash. I’ll be seeing stars in no time.
Probably the worst would be when I start to be annoying. I’ll get very touchy, overly friendly, blabbering about nothing at all.
Which brings me to why I hate cameras when I’m drunk. Cameras don’t like me when I’m drinking. Not only do I get a red eye, but my whole face is bloody red! Some say I’m rosy cheek. Yeah, rosy as a bleeding rose.
I may not be friends with Tanduay and Jose Cuervo and the likes, but thanks to them, a night in Sagada never fails to burn with fun and excitement (and embarrassment, too!).
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