Mike Villar: Rising Internet Star

There’s this bar in the Ortigas Home Depot complex that my colleagues from work and I frequent, the restrooms of which, taking into account my recent experiences, I’m starting to think is cursed(In a good way, if there’s such a thing). Let me explain.

A little backgrounder on that night: The reason why we wanted to go out for drinks was we wanted to take Jon (lead developer for one of the projects we’re working on whom, we have taken to passionately call “The beast from upstairs”) out to sort of get a feel of what Manila’s night life is like (something which we probably failed miserably at. For one, the bars at the Ortigas Home Depot complex is hardly representative of Manila’s nightlife and neither is a party of eight all-male, sweaty, socially inept web types)

I have written enough about the pattern my drinking nights usually take (relative humdrumness -> Dancing and singing (and crying in some occasions) -> somberness -> picking up into a crescendo of pure mayhem and inappropriateness) so I’m going to spare you from the boredom of reading about how the night progressed this time.

The turning point of the night came when a San Miguel Promo girl offered to give us a free shirt if we ordered 18 more bottles of beer. At that point, we were already feeling good and loaded but stupid John offered to pay for all 18 bottles if I agree to wear a small San Miguel ladies’ shirt for an hour–an offer which, in my state of relative inebriation, is impossible to refuse.

So yeah, Jon paid for 18 bottles of beer and, even though it was a fucking struggle, I managed to fit into a size S San Miguel Beer ladies shirt. People got their beers and had big laughs watching a 200-lb guy try to fit into a small ladies’ shirt. Everyone’s happy.

The fact that I had to wear a fucking tiny shirt for an hour is, in itself, funny. But check this out: About 45 minutes into the entire thing, I felt the need to take a leak.

Now, this bar is notorious for the long lines of people waiting to use the restrooms. The place had two restrooms: one for men and another for women–which is kind of retarded considering the place packs around 200 people at any given time. The men’s restroom also only has one toilet which means only one person can use it at a time.

I found myself 6th in the line of guys waiting to use the men’s restroom. There was, surprisingly enough, no line to use the women’s restroom (This is something that baffles me to no end. Is there some sort of special sac somewhere inside a woman’s vagoo that enables them to hold in more urine than men? Because I swear, I take a leak an average of eight times in a four hour period when I’m drinking and, from what I observed, women do like two? How the fuck?).

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Mike Villar: Bullshit Machine from Mike Villar on Vimeo.

My company’s CEO, armed with a video camera, ambushed me while I was dicking around on Facebook and asked me what I was working on.

Surprisingly unfazed and on my toes, my response was–arguably–the worst, most badly-delivered bullshit spat out by anyone who has ever lived.

Not my finest moment.

Also, my fellow manager Alvin Jimenez’s reaction at 0:07 was nothing short of priceless. It’s sort of an amalgam of raw disgust, not knowing whether to laugh politely and a pinch of pity.

(Oh and thanks to Rico Sta. Cruz for adding the score towards the end of my response. It really added drama to my monumental failure.)

On Monday, Maffy (For those who just tuned in, Maffy’s my Fiancee. What, and you deserve a fiancee? Shut up then) and I celebrated our 2nd anniversary of being together. Being the quasi-romantic that I am, I went for the entire flowers, nice dinner, excessive flattery and showering and brushing my teeth deal.

Now, while I’m usually off of work on Mondays, Maffy gets off at around 4 in the afternoon. Realizing that I had three hours to kill after picking up the bouquet of flowers I was going to give her, I went ahead and decided to be a little productive by taking my car to the shop and have my tires replaced and a couple of other things repaired.

Big Fucking Mistake.

The tire shop closest to where I live is this abysmal, ramshackle structure that has a non-airconditioned waiting room.

If you know me well enough, you’d know that I know jack shit about cars save for driving them. However, I was all up in the mechanic’s business making sure that he is really replacing the shit I was paying him to replace and repairing the shit I was paying him to repair–especially since how my mom kept telling me ever since I was young never to trust poor people because, in her own word’s, they “stink”, “they can’t afford a television set”, and “Here’s 500 bucks. Go back to your room and don’t play with squatters”

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About a week ago, I had this really peculiar erotic dream about this girl I used to have a crush on in Grade School. It was so strange and vivid that when I woke up, I had to fight off the urge to rummage through my old shit to find my grade school year book, track her number down, call her and say “I hope it was good for you. Cause it was fucking awesome for me!”

I’m not going to get into details because really, who would want to read me explicitly describing a dream where I’m fully naked (no, wait. I wasn’t fully naked. In this dream, I was sort of insecure and had a shirt on. Really reflective of how this entire sex thing is for me in real life now that I think about it.) swimming in an ocean of sour cream and mustard while flogging a three-headed penis? Exactly.

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The first week of June usually marks the start of a period of extreme mental and emotional strain to me. Allow me to explain:

In the Philippines, the first week of July is when classes start for a lot of schools nationwide. And, for someone like me who drives a good 56 Kilometers a day to and from work, the transition from the summer break where traffic is pleasantly light to the start of the school year where traffic reaches “I am so frustrated right now, I wanna wrap my penis around the steering wheel and karate chop it until it gets numb” levels is traumatizing to say the least.

If you’re familiar with Quezon City, you’d know that this is especially bad in the Katipunan area where several universities and colleges are located.

Anyway, earlier I found myself in a monster traffic jam on a part of Katipunan avenue where major roadwork was underway.

Now, here’s something you probably don’t know about me: I pick my nose like a 200 year-old Chinese man would. This is something I do without much regard for anything–in a drinking party with friends? I’ll send Mr. Pinky right into the mines and won’t call him back until he has enough green gold to call a haul. Bored while watching a movie with the girlfriend? In goes Mr. Pinky again. I do this shit everywhere.

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