Hi I’m Mike Villar. Please love me.

Monday, June 26, 2006

ladies, remember that date I was teling you about last week? Well why don't you go to the salon, wear your favorite clothes and totally rock that layered hair you love so much because I, Mike "Fucking" Villar, totally blew it, which means I'm not going to be in any relationship anytime soon, and I'm available for you to take and rub to your bosom.

You might be asking "How can Mike possibly fuck that one up? That chick was so into him!" and I honestly do not have an answer for you because I too, am pretty surprised at how things turned out.

I mean, I had everything planned out. From the topics I was going to talk to her about on the way to the restaurant to the sustained tone of voice akin to somebody who's on a constant state of arousal, I was pretty sure it was going to be an easy lay.

I imagine myself sitting infront of her, stimulating that big erogenous zone of her's that is her brain by talking about Kant's Groundwork for Metaphysics of Morals; she'll be impressed. She'll start to utter murmuring sounds not unlike a pigeon while biting her lip; I'll feel and resist the urge to reach down my pants to pat my bird and beg it not to fail me this time.

We'll finish eating and depending on how much the dinner was, I may or may not pick up the tab. After a brief shouting match and a scuffle that will end up with me getting my left eye clawed out; crying, we will agree to spend the night in a cheap motel (One of those econo-fan rooms, because I'd undoubtedly be broke as a motherfucker at this point) and have something that slightly resembles sex, only noisier and with more cussing.

Sometime during this, she will remove her clothes and I will remove most of mine. I will insist that I keep my shirt on because my upper body's a ghastly cellulite and body acne mess. This would be a clumsy and fumbling affair, but she won't mind because she's too caught in the iron talons of passion; that and she's sort of feeling woozy because I spiked her iced tea with Ativan earlier.

I will perform the art of cunnilingus on her all the while keeping in mind the old sailor's aphorism "Don't be afraid to get your face wet." She'll begin to ululate and shake violently out of sheer sexual pleasure. Little does she know that it's not my tongue that's probing the depths of her womanhood, but rather the 18 year-old room boy's from Ilo-ilo I sneaked in the room earlier. While all this is happening, I'll be in the toilet, masturbating on the cold bathroom floor.

We will achieve the glorious heights of pleasure simultaneously–her via the bellhop's tongue, me via my calloused right hand. I will crash beside her in the bed and fall in a contented slumber. She will try to engage me in a pleasant post-coital conversation, she'll ask me how she did but I'll ruin it by doing something stupid like comparing her performance to the 1997 Houston Rockets or something.

I'll sit up, light a cigarette and wallow in a pool of my and my lover's liquids. She'll then take this opportunity to retreat to the shower and sob softly.

So you see, that would've been nice wouldn't it? But instead I had to be a total douche and generally send the date swan diving into the asphalt within three hours of us being together.

We were having such a good time too– having a sumptuous dinner at an Italian restaurant, flirting and generally enjoying each other's company. It would've been what one would call "a good first date" but of course, the five bottles of beer I downed caused me to feel all hot and shit and what, only hours earlier, was a very fun-filled, light-hearted conversation degenerated into one that is morally depraved. The wheels came off when the conversation below took place:

Kat: Mike, you know what, we should do this more often now that I'm based in Manila again. [I'm assuming she wants me to take her home at this point]

Me: But it's only 12mn! Come on Kat don't be a party pooper! I was hoping we could hang out longer.

Kat: What do you have in mind?

Me: Well,[thinking fast] I was hoping we could watch some band perform or something. Have a few drinks maybe.

Kat: You know I don't drink Mike, besides, haven't you had enough to drink?

Me: No, I'm not even tipsy yet [knocks over a bottle of light beer with my left arm] Fuck.

Kat: Well I'd love to, but my mom expects me to be home by 1am–

Me: Come on Kat! why don't you come up with an excuse? Just say you're sleeping over a friend's house or something..

Kat: Mike, there's always next time! [smiles]

Me: No there won't.

Kat: What do you mean there won't?

Me: Well…[thinking fast part 2], I'm going to Australia next month.

Kat: Australia? Why? And when are you gonna be back?

Me: I won't be back! that's the thing! I'm going to live with my aunt and she's gonna find me a marketing gig over there [Thinking fast part 3]

Kat: Oh. [sighs] okay, maybe we could hang out a little more then.

Me: Great!

Kat: But where am I going to sleep?

Me: Well…[thinking fast part 4] I'm feeling sleepy myself, why don't we like check in somewhere and just drink in a hotel room or something?

Kat: Excuse me!?

Me: You know, a hotel room? We could drink, and maybe we could share…

Kat: Take me home.

Me: But Australia is like…

Kat: now.

So you see, I totally blew it. But it's not that bad really. I mean at least I get to retain my title as the intarweb's sexiest person or something.

Also, I'm broke as hell because my frustration that night drove me to see my "Girlfriend" from the massage parlor, a decision that cost me close to 2000 bucks.

Oh god, please love me.