And now, I'm blogging.
Great. Pfft...didn't I just convince myself that my life is pretty good compared to the millions of dying children in oh, I don't know...Lahug? Then why am I being such a bitch about this??
So, in celebration of living in the third world, and be surrounded by severe depression everywhere (seriously, everywhere --parking lots and the "yamada kids", it's not even funny), CP and I decided to have dinner at The Tinder Box. We were broke as hell. Why we even thought of dining at such an overpriced restaurant...and why I was the one who suggested the place, is beyond me. Why am I home right now blogging instead of washing dishes? Because we have our mothers' supplementary gold cards. And yes, we are bad, bad children, we should both be ashamed of ourselves...go get your own life.
Besides, I don't spend much on anything else anyway. And eating out has been my biggest expense lately next to gourmet (by that I mean not of the instant variety that I want to get used to. Starbucks is considered "gourmet" for third-world standards) coffee and cigarettes, so it's all good.
We both had the lamb, as always. I think the kitchen people have already branded us as the "Lamb Twins" since that's all we've ever ordered for years. And we still like it every single time. Because they make it just as good as the last time. Oh come on, it's not like the usual adobo that you feel like puking out after the third serving in a week. It's prime meat babe, can't argue with that.
As you might have noticed (might??) in the photo, I've already started chomping on my dish before photographing, because I am a pig with poor table manners, and not much patience especially when you've waited for sooo long for your food to be served, so excuse me. I was sooo hungry, I'm still surprised I didn't gnaw on the plate!
Ooo...does this mean I actually have manners? Ahh...there is hope. ;)
We ate at their main dining area because we were dressed like hobos. Good luck wearing those Cavalli shorts and Prada slip-ons, they won't care. You're not getting in the private room. :P Besides, it was just the two of us having dinner on a Friday night, why would we bother getting into their oohlala room anyway? We're no high-profiler having a luxe dinner with the mistress. We don't need privacy. :D For the fucking bill we paid, we should've hooked up a megaphone on the roof of the car and screamed, "We just ate at Tinder Box!!!", for crying out loud.
Lesson learned for tonight: Eating/staying/lounging/etc. at any place that charges major $$$ (again, third-world) without your sponsors --i.e. parents, is not an entirely pleasant experience.
It is...until the bill comes, anyway.
No wonder all these annoying yappers at Bo's or Starbucks keep on dropping "high-class" establishment names an average of 6 times/minute. It is apparently a big deal. And I had to go through the (yes, painful) experience of having to actually look at the eye-popping bill just to be able to get it. I am telling you, it is harsh paying...with your own money! :)
Oh well...in the end, it really doesn't matter how much you pay (but only if you can really afford it). It's all about the dining experience (which is always great). You enjoy a good meal, and in turn, have some real expensive poop. Isn't life just beeeautifuulll? ;)