Archive for November, 2006
November 24, 2006 at 11:40 am | Filed under bitchin' a ride, technicolor lover
I’ve been in and out two hospitals this week alone. My diagnosis? AIDS and VD. Deadly combination. Folks, it’s terminal.
All right, so that isn’t funny at all. Truth be told, I have a bacterial blood infection, a bad case of UTI (which caused the blood infection and causes my on-and-off fever and chills), and lumbar strain. Now I’m stuck in the hills of Antipolo for the time being, under the not-so-watchful eyes of my parents (who insist on a rice bran and fruit diet), and DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY DAYS OF WORK I’VE SKIPPED??? I’m bound to get, what, ten bucks on my next paycheck. No kidding.
And mehn, I’m all What-The-Fuck-ed Out. The first time I remember (cos mom says I used to come down with it all the time when I was a kid) getting UTI was at the nubile age of nineteen because I was banging this band’s drummer. Pissing razors, no fever, laid off the alcohol for a week, got better. The second time, my chud of an ex gave it to me. Again: pissing razors, no fever, could NOT lay off the alcohol so chugged down coconut juice and doubled my water intake, got better.
This third time? NO pissing razors. Fever. Chills. An actual, no, TWO actual trips to two different hospitals. IS IT BECAUSE I’M 21 AND NO LONGER ALLOWED TO BE YOUNG AND STUPID?
Rawr. Seriously, yesterday, I looked like some kid her mom literally dragged to the hospital. Board shorts, an old vintage tee (with little ipis holes!), flipflops, no make-up, and a messy ponytail. Ten minutes before leaving the house, I was curled up in bed going “Don’t wanna don’t wanna don’t wannaaaaaaaa! You can’t make meeeeee!” until mom got mad. LAWLZ.
Armed with my natural good looks and my good english skillz, I managed to face the bustling city looking like that. Over lunch, wearing that plastic patient bracelet and a cotton ball stuck to my inner elbow fold with hospital tape, I asked my mom: Wouldn’t it be awesome if I started coughing on people’s food?
Mom just laughed, yay, we’re friends again. We, like, totally bonded over Max’s chicken and kare-kare, and both agreed that my idiot of a cousin, Kiko, deserves death by horse-bukkake.
My meds set me back by a grand, and I feel guilty referring to the new boytoy as…well, ‘new boytoy’. So from now on, he is Chuchubells on here, okay?
Chuchubells was the one who convinced and brought me to the hospital four days ago. Ain’t that sweet. It don’t matter if he ain’t cute like D is, yo, he’s super nice, filthy rich, hooks me up with my needed social drugs, and drinks more than I do.
November 19, 2006 at 5:05 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, technicolor lover, the single girl phenomenon
I don’t want to wax emoetic over the fact that D just dumped me last night, three hours before my shift for work. Boyfriend is in Galera right now, and after two days of being incommunicado, he finally texts me. What we had was awesome, but hey, let’s stop blah blah blah. I told him I always kept my end of the bargain (kinda), and that I respect his decision, but I’m not about to be friends with him.
And that I don’t know which is sadder: the possibility of me never having good sex again, or that I’ve finally lost him :cute:. But enough about that. Let’s quote one of my favorite break-up songs: LiLo’s Over (by the way, I’ve reconstructed my Oh Well— WHAT WASTED UNCONDTIONAL LOVE!— playlist to include some RnB songs for major heartbreak. Oh why did I have to fall for a man who listens to RnB).
I watch the walls around me crumble, but it’s not like I won’t build them up again.
I realized over coffee, cigarettes, and the Oh Well playlist that I’m capable of getting even without getting mad first. In a demented and masochistic way, of course. Running to his ex and spilling the beans (oh, did I mention? They broke up last week) isn’t something I’d do— that’s, like, totally B-class you-slept-with-my-boyfriend-you-slut! drama; and I’m all for the bitch-slut-whore-you-slept-with-my-friend!!! kind of thing. B+ drama, what’s up.
In other news, I fell down the stairs last Thursday and sort of sprained my lower back and my left arm. The new boytoy and I were supposed to go out for drinks Friday night, but I was too plastered from lunch (I kidnapped one of my co-workers and made it my mission to turn her into a Southern version of me. Translation: Project “Let’s Make Vida An Alcoholic”. We started drinking at 12 noon) and had to take a nap to prep myself for another night of fun social casualties. I woke up Friday night with MAJOR CHILLS, like mehn, my teeth hurt so much from chattering non-stop for two hours.
The spoiled brat in me kicked in— boytoy offered to take me to the hospital the next day (after WE have OUR car carwashed), which turned into “Do you want me to bring you to the hospital right now?”, to which I replied with an “Are you fucking kidding me, can’t you see it HURTS to even move my toes right now???”
He got me out of my miniskirt and put me in sweats, socks, and his jacket. Basically, his “I’m gonna rape you tonight” statement turned into “I’m getting you medicine, and you better eat something”.
Oh, and I’m at work. I refuse to take more paracetamol and mefenamic acid, because I am aiming for the clinic to send me home by lunch. So I can sit in my Vortex, smoke a pack of Marlboro Reds, and listen to the Oh Well playlist.
I won’t be the one to chase you, but at the same time you’re the heart that I call home.
:cry:
November 12, 2006 at 10:25 am | Filed under ditz drivel, technicolor lover
This is how we kiss and make up:
Para quits, I’ll tell you something I know you hate. Some girl is dancing up on me.
-D aka The Man Who Still Makes Me Go ‘Rawr!’ Because He Is One Hot Helga-fucker
I bet I can dance better than that bitch.
-Helga “Hahaha, You Think That’ll Piss Me Off?” Weber
Don’t worry, di ko pansin.
-D “Because I Get The Best Sexy Time From Helga Weber” M
You better be a good boy. Keep your dick where it belongs. IN YOUR PANTS. Or in my mouth.
-Helga “But Seriously, That Pissed Me Off” Weber
So anyway. This entry is brought to you by rhum, Valium, four hours of sleep, and post-teenage angst.
Or maybe not.
Nothing much happened over the weekend. Watched some DVDs, went on a 10-and-a-half-hour drinking spree (830am, good morning alcohol), walked around Katipunan drunk and in my pajamas looking for lubricant (you know, FOR SEX), ordered a bucket meal at KFC (drunk and still in my pajamas), and fell down some stairs. Because I had this brilliant idea of dropping two Vis with my drink.
All in all, it was a pretty good weekend. EXCEPT THE LOVER WASN’T IN MY BED. Asshole.
Just for the record, today’s weather is Olongapo whore-ish, with bouts of boredom. I’m so bored, I’m surfing Friendster. My lawd.
November 5, 2006 at 1:31 pm | Filed under camwhorage, joyful girl, totally domestic
What’s up, photos of my new room.
Wooden floors! <3
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November 5, 2006 at 10:25 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, technicolor lover, the single girl phenomenon
I’ve been trying my hardest to not write about my relationship woes. But after a bottle of rhum, two hours of sleep, a ten-minute shower at 1am, a mad dash to get from Katipunan Avenue to Makati (while listening to Aimee Mann, Suzanne Vega, and Norah Jones), slipping on what’s supposed to be non-slip steps, scarring my shin, and still ending up NINEFUCKINGMINUTES late for work— please. I need this.
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Hi, my name's Helga Weber and welcome to my personal site. I'm 23. My first socio-political scandal will happen at the age of 35 and will include men, sushi, an African country, and lots of money. My lover is the greatest. 
