McDUH.

March 16, 2007 at 2:03 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, ditz drivel, urban primadonna

Just to say: because pay day is two weeks away, I have temporarily moved back in with my folks. There are pros (I have access to the intarwebs, even though its dial-up!!1) and cons (we never run out of food). So for the past few days, I’ve been taking public transportation back and forth Antipolo and Makati, and I realize: it fucking sucks. Like, no word or phrase or sentence can convey just how much I hate passing through C-5/Pasig at two to two-thirty in the afternoon. I’ve already been late three times this week.

Anyway. I usually take the bus from the office until Galleria, and then take a cab home from there. Tonight, I took the bus all the way to Valley Golf since our trainor let us out an hour early (for the sheer lack of anything to do to review for our US geography exam later). And two things happened:

1) The guy sitting next to me slipped me his calling card before getting off the bus. Well, not really slipped slipped. More like he put his card on top of the crossword puzzle I was answering (Rosario, Pasig and its All-Day All-Night Traffic Specials). Lulz, and his name is Jojo.

2) I ran out of phone credits just as I was about to text my mom that I was near our village (so my brother could pick me up at the gate). No working pay phone, no store where I could buy credits for my mobile. For ten seconds or so, I seriously thought I was fucked and would have to walk the five miles (or maybe even more omgz) home. Until I saw the guard house.

Life is so exciting.

I’m glad that alcohol the weekend still makes me giddy. And I’m gonna be a normal person next week in the 7am to 3pm shift.

And yes, Klassy, I remember:

Oh, Miriam College days.

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L.A. NIGHTS.

March 11, 2007 at 10:38 pm | Filed under ditz drivel, joyful girl, the internets

So I, like, died last night. Another awesome Saturday. Classic Helga: emptying out Sanya’s medicine jar on to the kitchen table and popping anything in sight. Or maybe just a few pills. And then Adrian gave me half a Stilnox. So yeaaaaaah, Misha had to carry me to the guest room cos I passed out in the living room. Good times!

Also, because I am just plain awesome like that, my right ankle is fat. On my way out Sanya’s kitchen, I missed a step and fell. Hard. Nah, not really. But it did hurt. Like how a princess would feel when she finds out Prince Charming has been making out with her, I don’t know, apple picker, and is therefore gay. So it was painful and I wasn’t even drunk yet. I swear I wasn’t, because if I were, I would’ve dropped the bottles of vodka and margarita and the ice tray I was carrying BUT I DIDN’T. So there.

Nobody saw me fall, which was good. I had to go back and sit in the kitchen for a while because I was seriously about to cry. Sanya thought I was talking to myself lololol. Anyway, now I have a swollen ankle and a little limp. And I start working tomorrow. Nice.

Ice’s Cup B and Klassy’s Pall Malls. D.O.P.!

So obviously I had fun. I supposedly owe this guy a date because we forced him and his friend to kiss. Brokeback sexyback mask! And then there were body shots. And then strip-stream-of-consciousness, which could be the best party game to play when you’re stoned or drunk or both. Especially when you’re surrounded by hotness.

Again: Happy 21st, Summer Fling, I love you! I’m gay for you!

And this got me laughing out loud. Like Jesus fuckin’ Christ HAHAHAHA loud.

Official languages: La Salle Taft Coñospeak, Jungle talk, Tagaylog, Salitang-kalye, Squatter, Tadbaliks, Gay Lingo Chuva Chenes, Haler

Fierce.

Ex-girlfriend article here. Asian chicks article here.

WALKING HURTS. 

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I GO ‘RAWR’.

March 7, 2007 at 9:20 pm | Filed under the helga manual

Weasel
Genera and species: Mustela nivalis
Collective Term: A sneak of weasels

Description:
Weasel personalities are closely related to badgers and skunks, and are suave and disarmingly charming. With their quick minds and lithe physiques, they might appear to be promising companions, but are notorious for the Machiavellian streak that underscores their personalities. Their behavior is motivated by the fact that it is one of the world’s smallest carnivores, and while lions and wolves may be able to afford a direct approach in acquiring resources, the smaller personality of the weasel requires more devious tactics. Its survival strategy is based on the manipulation of others and it uses its charm as its chief weapon.

Weasels lack the emotional and spiritual maturity found in the larger carnivores. They are masters of chaos and their above average intelligence allows them to think quite well on their feet. Weasels are attracted to unorthodox environments. Their quick minds are able to take advantage of rapidly changing situations and they’ll always emerge with more than their fair share of the booty. They share the same ambitious streak as their cousins the beaver, but their distaste for hard work has them behaving more like their skunk relatives who also resort to chicanery.

They have an uncanny knack of sensing weakness in others and they’ll often team up with more successful animal personalities, gaining their trust and then milking them for all they’re worth. These relationships are completely one sided. Taking what they need, they soon scuttle off to prey on their next victim. As lawyers, they are the essence of what is wrong with the justice system. Interested only in filling their own pockets, they can be seen on late night TV touting their personal injury services.

Sex is an escape for the weasel that frequently indulges in quick wild fixes, and although it has no shortage of willing partners, it favors connections with its favorite targets: badgers, prairie dogs, and wild cats. The weasel lover is earnest and attentive, with an uncanny ability to make its partner feel as though he or she was the only person in the world. Its appealing shyness and disarming vulnerability heightens the illusion. But, since honesty is an obstacle to its quest for sex, most partners remain unaware of this rascal’s true intentions until they’ve met its wife and kids. (WHAT?!?!?!)

It’s impossible to get a straight answer out of a weasel for it simply does not have the inclination to deal with difficult issues, sidestepping them with typical weasel agility. Occasionally though — in a rush of blood — it will reveal a fleeting insight into its heart. But out of fear of exposing its true motives, it quickly clams up and regains control.

Careers and Hobbies
Paparazzi Reporter
Politician Lawyer

Fine clothes Music
Adventure films Photography

Well, that’s a bit negative. I also got this result, which is nicer and pretty accurate. But you know me, always putting forth first the fact that I am a wretched wretched girl. Bitch. Take the test. And define ‘adventure films’, please.

Yeah, ok.

(And SRSLY. Christ. I refuse to be had by a Wordpress plug-in, but this is too much. I give up. For now.)

Men in glasses are HAWT. Yum.

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LET’S-BE-VAGUE.COM

March 6, 2007 at 2:36 am | Filed under ditz drivel

I can feel failure in the air. Just because failing comes easily for me, and just because I’m totally okay with it. And just because I am a momomonsterrr! who refuses to acknowledge certain things.

But like what Ely said: nothing is impossible; the ‘impossible’ just takes longer.

In other news, I got a haircut yesterday. Chopped about four inches off so now the longest layers fall around an inch below my collar bone. Which just shows how short my neck is. Also, my regular stylist (who I trust with my heart, soul, and loins) wasn’t there. Which naturally led to a sort-of hair disaster: I asked the stylist to cut the front layers a bit shorter. Bad move, my hair now makes my face looks rounder and fatter. This is why I have a certain stylist who has a mind of her own: because I can never be trusted when it comes to my own hair. SRSLY. :(

And to those who’ve been wondering: yeah, I have a job. I start on the 12th. I applied to three call centers and aced everything. Because really, how hard is it to pass such assessments. It’s probably the only sk1llz I have. I’m back to working in Makati because there’s no Starbucks in Cainta.

Also: eew, quit it. You’re, like, balding.:

iSigh. The escapist in me wants out again. I wanna be a store window mannequin. Or a slow dance.

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