MussoLOLen is Always Right! |

These days I make it a point to learn as much about life as I can by talking to all sorts of people and doing things I would normally never do. This system seems to be working fine because all the out-of-the-box experiences and mad socializing is helping me rid myself of my prejudices. But some prejudices will always remain, and for good reason, I think.

Embassy has a reputation of being the place to party in Manila. Anyone who is Someone in the Philippines can be found in that club, mingling with the country’s socialites, wannabe-socialites, and the just plain filthy rich while sipping 800-peso cocktail drinks. For months I proudly swore that I would never set foot in that place because I would instantly suffocate in a roomful of conyo party people. But when the idea to go to Embassy randomly struck my friends sometime early Saturday morning, I shrugged and went along with the plan. My excuse is that at 2 am, the intelligent part of my brain stops working.

I immediately regretted agreeing with them when we were ushered to line up outside the club. You know how sometimes you think that a certain event is going to suck, but when it actually happens it turns out that it isn’t as bad as you thought it would be? Embassy for me is not one of those things. As we stood in line, I tried to convince myself that maybe I’ll actually have fun, but I immediately erased that thought with, “Seriously, Lauren. Who are you kidding?” I was surrounded by the kind of people I used to make fun of in college–the ones who spoke in valley-girl Taglish and jock-boy English. We were lining up on the open air but despite the wind, I was choking on the strange stench of mixed expensive perfume. You could tell that the girls spent days picking out the perfect outfit to wear for tonight and hours doing their hair and putting on their makeup, in the hopes of attracting the eye of a hot male celebrity or at least, a photographer from the newspapers’ society pages. The guys were delicious eye candy, but did I really have to shell out five hundred bucks to see pretty faces when I can easily do that for free on the Internet?

From where I was standing I could see what was going on inside, and what was going on inside was…nothing. Just a bunch of gorgeous people standing around with their drinks, taking pictures of themselves, and talking about god-knows-what. Everyone was smiling and laughing, but no one looked like they were really having fun.

I didn’t want to be a brat and kill everyone’s plans, but as the line grew shorter and we approached the entrance of the club, I was desperately trying to think of a way to change their minds. I made eye contact with my friends and wanted to jump up and down when the looks on their faces said that maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea after all.

“Do you really want to go in?”

“NO!” I replied, giddy with relief. We were almost at the front of the line.

We ended up at Jaipur next door where the cover charge was cheaper and where we can actually enjoy ourselves and dance the rest of the night away. I might have changed my mind about going out dancing and feel no shame in gyrating to hip-hop. But I still maintain that the only way I can be found in Embassy is if I get dragged in kicking and screaming. Standing around like a dolled-up social robot trying to get noticed by other social robots is not exactly the way I like to spend my evenings.