HO-HO-HO! TRAIN.

December 27, 2006 at 5:11 pm | Filed under ditz drivel, joyful girl

Hey, what’s up, I’m fucking going crazy here. Two words: DIAL and UP.

So how was everyone’s Christmas, mine was so-so. It was just Allah and I because Yero wussed out and bribed us with cake. I woke up around 6pm (after some major bangin’ with Chuchubells— I don’t know why I’m in hick mode right now), threw on some clothes, and off Allah and I went to buy our noche whatever. I don’t really celebrate Christmas; I do it for the gifts, the alcohol, the hundreds of text messages, and the videoke. So we got ourselves crap wine glasses that have the tackiest clink, two whole roast chickens, RICE, and the needed liquids for our Tanduay punch. We have dinner, we drink wine, we fall asleep in the lounge. I woke up at half past twelve because there was this priest on TV, so I start poking Allah awake: It’s Christmas, Allaaaaah, it’s Christmas!!!

That photo to the left was taken months ago, I just wanted to post something somewhat festive. Or unfabulous. All right, just something downright embarrassing. The girl with the glazed drunk look, that’s Anna. The girl laughing at her, that’s Allah (she has short pixie hair now). The girl behind the two girls, the one with the crazy I’m-too-fucking-happy smile on her face, that’s me.

And I’m, like, so depressed. The eating has got to stop. I told Allah that we should finish all the food we have at the apartment; that way, we stop eating, too. Sounds logical, right (speaking of logical, I got dumber; took an IQ test several days ago and scored a 127. Call center tragedy)? Christmas morning, I devoured four slices of chocolate mousse cake with cherry icing and a chocolate-walnut muffin, followed by leftover roast chicken and rice for lunch. Oh gawd, where was I. So last night, I got myself a pair of formal shorts at Tiendesitas. I was debating with my brother’s girlfriend: small or medium? She insisted on the small. I swear, come second week of January, I WILL fit into those shorts.

Over the holidays, I realized I could never truly make it as a pornstar.

Yeah, yeah, new color scheme and image, finafuckinglly. I gotta get my ass in the bathroom, I’m taking my mom out for a movie (Mano Po, kill me now plz). Happy holidays, folks.

Hey, look, Hey, look, social security disability!

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PEACHY KEEN, EH.

December 21, 2006 at 11:32 pm | Filed under a waste of human capital, bitchin' a ride

It’s a fact that I hate to admit, but in Katipunan, tricycle drivers are kings. Those shitheads own not just the roads, but a huge chunk of your everyday Katipunan existence as well. And on days like today, I wish I were God (like, truly truly God) armed with an AK-47 and the legal right to open fire and headshot their sneering smirking heads to bits.

Today, I left the apartment at half past two in the afternoon with 21 Christmas cards in my bag. I took a jeep to get to the UP Post Office. Now UP is only SUPPOSED to be ten minutes away from Katipunan, but no thanks to the traffic, my plans of sending out those cards were foiled. The post office closes at 3. It doesn’t help that I haven’t been to the Diliman campus in MONTHS— I had this wild look in my eyes that screamed “I DON’T BELONG HERE!” and I just had to leave my cigarettes at home. I could be naked and fat in the middle of EDSA during rush hour, but hand me a lit cigarette and I can fucking strut the highway and make naked and fat look cool. Or the new black.

So anyway. I passed by Shoppersville to get some boxes and wrappers because ’tis the season for that. After dilly-dallying for half an hour, I leave the place and approach a parked tricycle. I give the driver my street name and my exact compound, he pauses and then asks how much I normally pay. 12 pesos, I say. Asshat starts reasoning out and for the nth time that day, I wish I had my cigarettes with me so I could’ve blown smoke into his face before I walked away. This cretin (a tricycle driver, too) who was sitting on the sidewalk next to his tricycle scoffed at my back: “12 pesos? For a pedicab, maybe!” Fucking idiot. You’re a trike driver, I live on lower, not upper Abada. KNOW THE FARE DIFFERENCE.

So off I walk to the tricycle terminal outside the dorm where I used to live. I stopped by the bank, drew out some cash, and as I walked past Rustan’s (the grocery), I hear someone calling my name. Not just one “Helga!” but many many Helgas. “Helga! Helga! HELGA!”

I turn my head and what do I see? A group of tricycle drivers sitting on a concrete stump with silly smiles pasted on their grimy city-tanned faces. My mind seriously froze. Like. Seriously. Froze. I was holding my phone because I had a message from Chuchubells and the words were a blur and for a few seconds, it was like my brain had forgotten how to string letters and words together. I approached a waiting trike, stared at the driver (who stared back) before I was able to go “Abada. *pause* Family Montessori. *pause*” And then I realized I actually had to get in, to get home.

I texted Chuchubells about the incident and he said that’s what I get for always walking along and around Katipunan. IT’S NOT LIKE I DO SO WEARING A FUCKING NAME TAG (while waving around Davidoff cigars)!

“Maybe I should change my name”, I told Allah when I got home. So from now on, my Katipunan screen name is MARY-KATE, okay? In front of tricycle drivers and tambays, I am NOT Helga; I am Mary-Kate.

Also, I’d just like to point out how much I hate office gossip. D texted me last Tuesday night, out of the blue, to say that he’s disappointed that he’s heard I’ve been talking trash about him. I replied with a “Don’t talk about you. Don’t even THINK about you.”

So last night, I was drunk, pissed off at Chuchubells, had downed three Vis, and had the brilliant idea to bitch at D. Don’t ask me what happened because my memory’s a bit fuzzy. Why are the Alabang people even talking about me, damn it.

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