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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.


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Saturday, June 13, 2009

entry arrow3:25 PM | Wet and Wild on Independence Day



Like most Night Outs that eventually mean something, this one started out as the paragon of boring. I was sick, and never really wanted to go out. Still, when The One I'm Dating told me he was going out with some friends, I told myself, Hey I can go out with some friends, too. So I texted Clee: "Take me out tonight." I got dressed. He soon came by 10 p.m., and off we went to the Independence Day Special at Hayahay, which was full, but I knew almost nobody. The band, on the other hand, was only mildly entertaining. A bottle of Red Horse made me soon forget everything.

"Where's everybody?" I asked.

"Maybe they're staying in because of the rain," he said.

"Or because they're sick from the flu," I said, fingering my still sore throat.

"Or gorging their belly with fiesta food in Sibulan."

"Or..."

"Or..."

We were bored out of our heads. And like most people who are bored by the Scene, but can't talk to each other over the loud music, we resorted to texting instead. A great Friday night this was turning out to be.

"What time do we go to El Camino?"

"What about now?"

"Let's finish this Red Horse first."

And we gulped down our beer, and headed straight to El Camino. The woman manning the ticket booth, ummm, bench only looked at us straight to our eyes, and said, "P100."

"What?" I said. "How come?"

"Because, for tonight, you can just go back and forth between El Cams and Barefoot," she said.

"What's in Barefoot."

I heard her say, "A rave party."

We went in. It was a Rain Party.

And by the time midnight came calling, the hundreds of bodies packed into the dance floor of the outdoors bar were all wet, and wild, and dancing soaked to our skin. I don't think anybody on that drenched dance floor was drunk at all -- the water from the sprinkler system the organizers have installed kinda sobered us up -- but that didn't stop most people from surrendering to wild abandon sans tipsy-tinged madness.

I must confess that I never thought I'd see the day when I'd get out of the doors of El Camino dripping like a wet seal. And off we all went to Qyosko, wet clothes and all, for some after-party chow.

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