Asian Invasion

Less than 24 hours into my Asian Invasion and I’m already puking my guts out. How did I end up here, next to my brother’s red rice rocket’s right rear wheel tire (say that five times fast)… standing over a puddle of my own puke? Let’s try and retrace my steps shall we…

Leaving San Diego wasn’t an easy decision. The sun, the surf and the tanned beach bodies were all weighing me down and telling me that leaving is a bad idea. Nevertheless, I stowed away my surfboards, locked up my Camaro and went “leaving on a jet plane.”

I arrived sometime past midnight. I was immediately hit by a wall of heat and humidity that came out of nowhere. To the window, to the wall, ’til the sweat drops down my…. forehead… I could feel my sweat glands in overdrive already, and I just stepped off the plane. 

It was already about 2am by the time I got home. I spent the rest of the night catching up with my siblings. My sister was really excited to see me. It was her birthday the week before and she decided to move her birthday party a week late so that I could come join her and meet her friends that week. 

Fast forward half a day later and I find myself with my buddies, Jody and Jackson, who take me to their new favorite, authentic Filipino restaurant: Hooters. Now please forgive my friends, you see, Hooters just opened their very first branch in Manila a few weeks before my arrival. There’s something about that place that just keeps these guys coming back. I’m not sure if it’s the friendly family atmosphere, the great tasting food or the amazing service. Then again, it’s probably the BIG, LUSCIOUS… wings… they serve there. 

0.05 seconds upon arrival, my friends don’t hesitate to order up some alcohol. “Three pitchers!” says my friend Jackson.

“What the hell you get three pitchers for?” I squealingly ask.

“One each!” proclaimed Jackson. 

I do my best to try and convince my friends that despite my crazy facebook pictures and my flamboyant over exaggerations, that I’m actually a lightweight and can’t drink that much. The words “PUSSY” and “LAME” suddenly became an important adjective to describe my actions of trying not to drink. 

Alas, I am only a man, and peer pressure is a bitch! 

Six pitchers later, my other good friends arrive. Again, peer pressure lurked its way down to my side…. just like my uncle did when I was in 2nd grade…. 

“What? Americans can’t drink?!!??!?” screamed Mark.

“Well technically I’m Asian…. I don’t think my passport has anything to do with my drinking ability… or lack thereof…” I pleaded.

“Pussy!” said Chinky.

“OK OK OK!” I sighed, “I’ll drink if Malou drinks!” 

An awkward pause and a silence like I’ve never heard prevailed over the table for a few seconds. My friends stared at me as if I had signed my own death warrant, and that I did. 

“Dude, you challenged the wrong person.” whispered Oliver. 

Malou took two Jager Bombs without even flinching. Of course, to add more alcohol to it, instead of dropping Jager into Redbull, she decides to drop it into a glass of beer… how considerate of her… Of course, I had to do the same. The rest of the time we’re at Hooters was a blur to me. 

Next thing I know, my dinner tells me that it wants to get some fresh air… I’m about to puke. 

I’m in the front seat of Jody’s car and I barely muster the coordination to open Jody’s door. To my luck, there is a cop in a motorcycle passing right by me, and I ALMOST HIT HIM as I violently swing the car door open!

 The officer swerves and barely misses the random opening door on the road. Of course I’m oblivious to this as I’m just puking my guts out the side. Jody later on tells me that the cop turns his lights and siren on, stops right in front of the car, looks at me puking, shakes his head in utter rage, and just leaves…. Thank god I’m in the Philippines! 

We barely make it to my place and again, I’m puking next to the right rear wheel tire of my brother’s red rice rocket. Standing over a puddle of my own puke, it hits me! 

My sister’s birthday party….!!!!! 

“Guuyyyyyssss…. Meeee is need to gooooingg now toooo sistaaa parteeeee….” I drunkenly slur. 

I tried to walk, I tried to get going, but I could barely stand up straight without having to puke again. So I end up calling my sister and giving the worst drunken apology in the world…. 

“Iiiiiiiiiiammmmmmmmsooooooooooosssssoooooorrrrrrrryyyyyyyyy?” I try to say in an understandable dialect. 

I felt like the worst brother in the world. I felt so bad that I had to puke…. or maybe that was just the Jager again. 

Anyway, I end up apologizing multiple times the next day and promising my sister a full on shopping spree which for some reason, made everything better. In the end, it’s the lesson that really counts. I learned that you should never, under any circumstances, fall victim to peer pressure, unless of course, you’re with your peers.

 Oh and never challenge Malou again!!!  


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