Pitcher. Elegance. Panic.
Posted on January 8, 2008
Filed Under Daily, Failures
Ever since an uncle of mine moved in with us early last year, I no longer have a room I could call my own. In lieu of a room, what I have is a little corner in the family den where a little book shelf that has all my books arranged neatly on it and a little coffee table and a nice comfortable chair is.
Let me be honest here, I seldom use this corner and whenever I do, you can be sure that I am only up to one thing: being pretentious.
When the mood strikes me, I set up my Macbook in my little corner, turn on the reading lamp and write pages upon pages of obscene inanity, some of which can be found in this very site. I also have a vase-like pitcher I fill with what I’d like to call “Mikey Blend” Iced tea. (shut up.)
I picture myself in this setting and I realize that the only thing missing from my little aristocratic pretentious corner is a velvet robe and I dunno, maybe an antique globe or something. But I’m working on those as I write this.
However, no matter how much I try to exude an aura of a mild-mannered man who loves cultured elegance, I often become unsteady and falter. Last night, one of my childhood friends whom I haven’t seen for a long time visited me and because I badly wanted to show him how cultured and elegant I was, I decided to sit him down in my little corner so he can admire the breadth of the books I’ve read and later on, bow down to my obvious, commanding intellectual superiority.
I reached for my vase-like pitcher and poured him a glass of “Mikey’s blend” iced tea. At this point, I was waiting for him to say “Mikey, you are so wise, luxurious and elegant. You belong to a rich European country. I belong in jail.”
Instead, he said “You got to be fucking kidding me.”
What didn’t occur to me, the nobleman, was that if you leave iced tea in a pitcher, regardless of its shape, long enough without a cover, ants are bound to find their way into it.
So yes, I pretty much served my friend a glass of warm iced tea and ants.
This morning, I decided to wash my vase-shaped pitcher. The biggest problem in going about this is that the pitcher has a really small opening where I can barely stick my hand in up to my wrist.
Because I am very resilient (or stubborn) I decided to clean the pitcher the way I would clean any glassware: I put a generous amount of dishwashing paste on a sponge and rammed it up all the way to the bottom of the pitcher.
Big, motherfucking, mistake.
When I tried to pull my hand out of the pitcher, it was stuck. As in totally stuck. What ensued was arguably the most harrowing fifteen minutes of my life.
I tried to pull harder but it’s as if the harder I pulled, the more my hand got stuck. I was panicking at this point. My heart began racing and sweat beads began to manifest on my forehead.
It took ten minutes for the first sensible thought to cross my mind. At this point, I realized that I might have to smash the pitcher against the wall to break my hand loose. As I was about to, my hand popped out the pitcher sending me back a couple of steps. Freed from my glass shackle, I stopped hyperventilating and my heart rate slowly went back down to normal. Disaster averted. I conducted myself with composure under extreme duress.
I fucking rock.
Now, where do you suppose I could get an antique globe?
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Mike "Fucking" Villar
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"The personal blog of Marketing Strategist, Rising Internet Star, Man Blog editor, child pornographer, alcoholic, and cokehead-- Douchebag Jones--Err, Mike Villar! -
Dude! You also need a pipe! And a monocle! And a pocket watch! And instead of iced tea, bourbon!
Why do I get the feeling that this entire post is just one big euphemism for Mikey jacking off? Tito Edgar.
How about that marble nameplate you were planning to buy? Whatever happened to that?
I would definitely buy another pitcher with a wider mouth and some ant poison to spread around. Plus, you need to booze up that iced tea. Yeah, lots of booze.
try aristocratic dressing: elegant but very reserved.
http://bp2.blogger.com/_Ix9iZ5yJkvo/R4EyqLWzmII/AAAAAAAABaE/bg31cjio7-o/s1600-h/brideshead_revisited_1193923479.jpg
BTW, i have an antique globe at home. =p
Pau: Eww.
Marco: I decided not to have it made. After I abandoned my dream of being governor of pangasinan.
hi. i’ve been sortof lurking for awhile in your blog now.
i’m a little confused. why did you have to put your hand in? can’t you just put the dishwashing soap, cover the other end and shake?
just a thought.
You’re making me feel dumb