[Notice: I.PH will be down today, September 22, 2005 from 9:00pm to 5:00am Manila time for maintenance.]

I’ve
been receiving messages asking me what the deal was with my last entry.
Well, I’d really rather not to talk about it as I would like to get
back to regular programing (read: writing about masturbation and
penises). It was a terrible shame; let’s leave it at that.

At
first, I thought that leaving out the sad details was poor judgment on
my part because fact of the matter is, what may be ‘terrible’ to one
person; namely one Michael Joseph Villar, male, single, 23 years of
age, Internet professional, overweight and has dark underarms; might be
nothing compared to people in far worse predicaments.

However, I found out lately that a lot of my friends actually read
my blog. So I thought fuck that. By writing the details of how me and
my now good friend Nixie ‘broke up’, one can easily be led to the
conclusion that I’m much more of a chump than I really am. –Cough– Failure to –Cough– consummate –Cough– the relationship.

So what’s up with my life you ask? I feel like I’m obliged to play
catch up here and I promise I would; but I really don’t know where to
start since the weekend was a total fucking drunken haze. The last
cognizant memory I have was from Sunday where one of my college buds
hosted some sort of reunion over at his house somewhere in the
boondocks of Antipolo. I have my apprehensions in going to college
reunions mainly because of the “What are you doing” question. I mean,
considering that most of the people in the party attended UERM for a
pre-medical course, I’ve come to expect that most of them would already
be doctors or at least in their senior year. I imagine myself
approaching my good bud Carlo and having a conversation along these
lines:

Me: “Hey Carlo! Boy, I can’t believe it’s been that
long since we’ve eaten siopao while dissecting cats in comparative
anatomy man! So are you still in med school?”

Carlo: “Hey Mike! … Oh my … damn, you’ve gained a
lot of weight man. Do you ever stand in front of the mirror naked and
wonder how anyone could possibly love you?”

Me: “huh?”

Carlo: “Err.. nothing, forget it. Well, I just
graduated last year, I’m migrating to New York to study cardiology
there. How about you, what are you doing man?”

Me: “Um. I call random people and sell them blogs.”

Carlo: “What’s a blog?”

Me: “It’s like an online journal. Um you can post stuff on the internet, it’s kinda cool.”

Carlo: “That is so lame.”

Me: “Yes it is.”

Carlo: “Like really really lame man.”

Me: “Yeah. But mine is kinda neat because it has RSS feeds.”

Thankfully nothing of that sort happened because a lot of them
didn’t end up pursuing medicine after all. One of the girls on my block
ended up taking Interior design and this other gentleman whose name I
forgot, but I remember fondly as the guy I caught in the fire exit
humping Rose Bernabe, ended up graduating with a physics degree. So it
was cool. What wasn’t cool was all the stupid picture taking that
happened at the latter part of the party. Let me start off by saying
that at this point in the party, I am about as photogenic as the
drunkest, most totally-sloshed motherfucker in the world. If you dare
take a picture of me, the chances are:

• My eyes will be closed, or worse, half closed which makes me look like a zombie or a girl in the height of orgasm.

• I’m not smiling. I have no explanation for this but
  smiling simply doesn’t look good on me. My mouth is so small that when
  I try to arch my lips and smile, I end up looking like how Sonny
  Belmonte looks like on all his pictures. I end up looking like I have
  no teeth.

• I’ll have some sort of fucked up, retarded look on my
  face that will be too humiliating for me when I see the prints, that
  I’d try to grab it out of your hands and beat you up with my vengeful
  fists.

I’m not exaggerating about any of these too.
I’ve always believed that I have been blessed with a lot of things in
life like a wonderful family, a lot of friends (six to be exact), and a
beautiful penis. Small. But beautiful. But the ability to look good in
pictures? Nope. I’ve lost count of how many group or family pictures
I’ve ruined just by being in it. I mean everyone else in the picture
are flashing their close-up smiles, looking good and shit and then
there’s Mikey, looking like somebody pistol whipped him over the head
really good.

The highlight of the entire night for me came when I
was about to leave the party. I was pretty drunk and shit thanks to
about thirteen bottles of San Mig light. Anyways, I was about to step
out of the door when, from behind me, I hear somebody call me “Mike?
Mike Villar?”

Now, it’s been eight years or something since I’ve
met some of these people. I attended UERM from 1998 to 2001 and I
transferred to PSBA after that. So I turned around expecting to see
some old friend I failed to rub elbows with in the party, or some guy
whom I owe money to or whatever.

What’s strange was that I turned around I find this
petite, Chinese-looking, and attractive lady; and motherfucker, I
cannot remember who she was. I was trying to associate her face with a
name, trying hard to remember who she was and she wasn’t cooperating.
She just kinda stood there near the door smiling. Dammit, I hate these
moments.

After fifteen seconds or so of awkward silence, she says “Are you Mike Villar? The same Mike who writes a blog?”

Now I know she’s reading this and she’s probably
laughing herself dead, but my reaction was priceless. I think I just
stood there stuttering and making all sorts of weird gestures. I felt
the hairs on the back of my neck stand, my heart beating faster and I
felt my face turn a shade of red. I’m not exactly sure how long I stood
there looking flabbergasted and I don’t exactly remember what I said
next but I probably said something to the effect of “ummm you actually read my blog? How did you know it was me? And how can you be so pretty and how can I so not know your name?”

Her name was Katherine, and she wasn’t in my block
but we were classmates in four of our GE subjects. I also learned that
she is in my friends list on Friendster; probably one of those people I
randomly added from other peoples’ friends list. She told me that she
came across my blog thanks to a shameless, unabashed plug I made
through the bulletin boards a couple of months ago. She told me she has
been hooked since, and that she recognizes me from my Friendster
pictures.

It’s a weird feeling when somebody you don’t know
much about knows so much about you. Being officially single again for
the second time in a period of one year, I was very lonely. Naturally,
I asked Kat for her telephone number and what killed me was when she
replied “But don’t you have Nixie?”. Now THAT’s creepy folks, the
overall impact of that question had me thinking she was a spy for an
organization keeping tabs on what I do everyday. Maybe I was just
overreacting but it’s a very creepy feeling that, I should know, comes
with being a blog whore and baring your soul on the Internet. You have
to realize that eventually, some chick will read your blog, and it’s
likely that when you meet that chick in a party and ask for her
telephone number, she’d be asking you about that girl you were boning a
couple of entries ago, and it’s likely that the chick whose telephone
number your asking for is VERY attractive. But then again, you’re the
ass who thought it’s funky to share your personal life over the
Internet so you get what you deserve. Asshole.

Anyways, she said that she was pretty flipped out too
when she saw me in the party after reading my blog regularly for two
months. Apparently, she wasn’t completely sure if it was me so she
waited until I was about to leave and finally take her chance at
confirming.

Now can I have a few seconds to let all of this sink
in? The web is a huge-ass place; the real world is even bigger. To be
honest, I don’t have a lot of people reading my blog, I get a couple of
thousand page views a week. What are the chances that somebody that
reads my blog would be in the same party as I am, recognize me from
pictures, approach me and have a conversation with me? This is just
fucking awesome. Now it’s nice to think I’m famous or something but I’m
not, I’d be better off using words like ‘Destiny’ or ‘Circumstance’ in
describing this experience rather than ‘fame.’

When I signed up for this blogging thing a few months
back, never in a lifetime did I ever imagine that somebody would
recognize me, come up to me and pay me compliments for the things I
write.

I’ve been itching to write about this since yesterday
but I couldn’t come up with a polite way to tell the whole story
without sounding like an asshole on an ego trip.

Anyway, I explained to Kat that Nixie never was my
girlfriend, and that we only had this strange arrangement. I also told
her thatI needed to bounce lest I puke all over the place. I think I
mumbled something like “I’m going, too drunk. Must sleep. You have
number?” or something totally retarded like that. So I stored her
telephone number on my phone, or at least I thought I did. When I tried
to look for it this morning, all I saw was a phone book entry that
says: Kaaathern preez: +639111

So Kat, if you’re reading this, can you send me your phone number. I just hope that the phone number I gave you was correct.