For those of you who care to know, I turned 25 last Sunday. Twentyfuckingfive. When I was a kid of around 12, I've always thought that I'll have things going for me when I turn 25. I mean my Dad married my mom when they were 28 and 27 respectively so it's natural for me to assume that when I hit 25, I would be prepared and well on my way to a married life where I have a cover girl trophy wife who gives wicked beejers and cooks the best Kare Kare in town, two kids who aren't seriously retarded and do not have a predilection for burning up churches. I'd live in a suburban house with a ginormous lawn where I would have a gazebo which I would be power washing every weekend while my Saint Bernard named "Sneakers" plays catch with my kids. Every month, me and my family will go to exotic island vacations and me and my wife will, every once in a while, go on medical missions to help thirsty orphans in Africa. Yes, life will be peachy when I hit 25.
But instead, here I am, 25 -years-old, still living with my parents, spending 80% of my meager income on alcohol and illegal drugs, my head a stew of all sorts of mental disorders ranging from mild clinical depression to full blown panic attacks, engaged to a wonderful girl but only have less than 30,000 pesos in my savings, and practically have NOTHING to show for my 25-year existence but a blog teeming with racist/dick jokes(which gets over 4,000 page views a day but that's besides the point. Asshole).
To celebrate this tragedy called the quarter life (though I still don't understand why people refer to being 25 as 'the quarter life.' I mean, are you guys seriously aiming for 100? Because at the rate I'm going I expect to be bedridden by the time I'm 30. Yes I have 5 good years left. Birthday sex anyone?), I planned a three day all-out drinking bonanza with three different groups of people–My friends from the office, my friends from the internet, and my broke-ass hobo friends from the neighborhood.
Both the drinking bonanzas with my friends from the office and my broke-ass hobo friends from the neighborhood were quite uneventful. No wait, actually as a consequence of me speed drinking around eight bottles of Red Horse in under 3 hours (We started drinking around 7 and I had to leave around 10 since my brother was picking me up), I got way too drunk for my own good and much to the chagrin of my mother who found me sleeping butt naked on the living room floor the morning after, had this conversation with the mummers:
Mom: Oh my God, Michael! What are you doing there?! [looking away]
Me: [waking up, still drunk] What? [scratching scrotum]
Mom: Oh my God! Get dressed! Somebody might walk in and see you–exposed!
Me: Yeah, big deal. Mom can you get me a blanket? [falling back asleep]
Mom: Oh my God! What happened to you?! What did you turn into?! Oh my God!
Not my finest I know. And I apologize to Marc, Riz, Sharm, and a bunch of other people if I acted like a total dunce in front of you guys that night. Please understand that I was very tipsy that night and I couldn't really be held accountable for the things I did. Also by 'very tipsy' I meant, 'brain dead drunk and I was really planning to freeze my scrotum off by sleeping naked on the cold marble tiles of our living room'.
The drinking bonanza I had with my broke-ass hobo friends/band mates was pretty much the same story only with a different ending–an ending which involves 2 Barangay Tanods breaking up the shindig after me and my equally inebriated band mates decided that turning up the guitar amplifiers all the way up and singing a drunken version of Bohemian Rhapsody at 2 o'clock in the morning was a good idea. Also minor fisticuffs ensued after somebody accused somebody of stealing his cellphone. Such wonderful friends I have.
And The Man Blog Alcohol Celebraganza?–waittaminute! I am honestly at loss for words to describe what happened that night. It's really to soon for me to talk about it because I'm still at awe from all shades of awesomeness that happened that night. I mean there were girls kissing each other for crying out loud! Girls! Kissing! Each other! And people asking for my autograph! Good times baby, good times.
So yeah, I guess it was fun. I was kind of hurting inside though that my fiancee wasn't here to celebrate my birthday with me but it was okay. Also, I think that there's an 85% chance of my Fiancee backing out of our wedding after she reads this post. I mean I have received a lot of comments from people saying that I am someone who "Knows how to have fun". Although I think my mother and my fiancee would agree with me that the best word to describe me should be "Drunkard."
Fuck, I hate all of you right now all of a sudden.
Mike "Fucking" Villar
"a Manila-based blogger made famous by his Atrocities of Friendster series, a regular feature he publishes on his blog where he mercilessly criticizes and mocks pictures of ugly people he stumbles upon on popular social networking site, Friendster. Although a lot of people are offended by what he writes, long-time readers of his blog regard him as a brilliant satire writer."
-Taken from my WikiBios page
