Archive for May, 2007
May 17, 2007 at 9:24 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, breaking up the girl
I’m blogging to say that…I won’t be blogging much. Yeah, I’m a stupet. No, actually, I just needed to update because my month-to-date archive’s looking quite dismal. Thing is, I am happily allowing myself to be pwned by work. So I’m not really minding that IT has blocked my website and all proxy servers known to man (I’Z IN UR ‘PUTER!!! SKROOWING WIT UR PROXZIEZ! J0O SNEEKY SNEEKY! ZURF CONTR0WL!), and that the only sites I have access to are Flickr and TMB, and that we are constantly requested to render mandatory overtime (usually asking us to give up our second lunch)— it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.
Although I think that if those IT boys only knew how hot I am, it’s possible that we could work something out. Stealz! I asked you ages ago: are they blowjobabble? No? Ok!
Also, this cat has a fever:
And I’m just an obese LOLkitty.
Hiatus schmiatus. I’m renewing this domain for another year (it expires in three days), I just have to find time to go the bank or Globe to make the payment.
I hope to be able to catch my breath, adjust, and be back by next week. Til then, I’ll be busy with work, fending off the subtle advances of a co-worker, clumsily checking out Mr Supervisor, naming random inanimate objects around the house (last week, I named our water pitchers Oscar and Bettita; that same week, Mikey and I agreed to name our first-borne daughter Bettita [I like that name so much. Bettina, too] and our first-borne son Dodgie [nicknamed Bobet by Steel]. I forgot what our pet cat’s name’s going to be, but I know our dog’s Sneakers and our pigeon’s Celso. Or was it Naldy?), and wasting money on bag after bag of colorful bendable straws (it’s funner to snort things with these, don’t you know?). In the meantime, I should get some sleep.
Are you ready, boots? Start walkin’.
May 14, 2007 at 5:17 pm | Filed under breaking up the girl, camwhorage
I started writing yet another entry about my turning 22, but I realized I’m too drained to churn out something coherent. Which is odd, since I spent the majority of my weekend in bed watching TV, and I woke up to the tune of three mugs of black coffee this morning. I don’t know where this sluggishness is coming from but I must shrug it off before 7 tonight, because it’s preventing me from functioning properly.
Speaking of TV. OMG, Ruffa Gutierrez-Yilmaz Bektas divorce, so good. I love Ruffa like anything, she’s so gay and fabulous and gorgeous and Venice is the cutest thing ever. While watching The Buzz, my flatmate commented on how Ruffa’s fabulousness has gone down a notch now that she no longer has a filthy rich husband (who is so very showbiz, too). And then she starts crying right after she says something along the lines of “One thing I will never understand about their culture is how it’s okay to hurt their women!!!”, and I’m like “Oh my godz! She’s more fab than ever now!” And then we switch to Channel 7 and I am fascinated and amused by Annabelle Rama’s crying.
Anyway. Photos and other chopsueynesses! To cheer me up!
My lunch. And I wonder why I’m so fat. Look at that.
Our mommy dog, Panda, gave birth to six puppies yesterday (Mother’s Day!). We have little cows. So fun.
With four of my favorite girls: Klassy, Sanya, Shauna, and Sam aka the LezzieGangBang. Taken the first Sunday of May in Ziggurat. It’s been ages since the five of us last hung out. I think that’s what happens when people grow up.
Too funny not to post. Sam captionized this photo as “Stumbleupon…?” There’s Shauna and I, giving Klassy our undivided attention as Klassy raves about Stumbleupon. I know I look bored, but I was actually quite enthralled. Shauna just looks puzzled.
Today’s notable YM snippet. Conversations with the ex-boss:
He left me at my hotel at 3:00 AM murmuring: “You’re marvelous.”
-Anais Nin, Diary Volume Two
That pretty much sums up the vibe this past weekend. Now, I go to work.
May 8, 2007 at 9:36 am | Filed under Y!M conversations, mr wonderful, technicolor lover, the helga manual
Mr Supervisor (rather, Mr Former Supervisor But Still A Supervisor) came up to me (of his own volition, not because I needed help) towards the end of my shift and described me as “volatile” and asked if I’ve been good. That means I flip and flop between irate and calm. Intermittently bitchy agent? More like irascible because someone’s being an idiot. Of course, volatile can also mean I’m explosive (which is a sexy way of putting it). On the other hand, it can mean I’m unstable (I think we already know that).
It’s generally not a good idea for me to have crushes on people who are physically within my reach and whom I come into contact with on a daily basis, if only because I’m a ding-a-ling who has the scandalous habit of acting upon my crushes. My theory is that it comes with my age and that when I eventually mature, I’ll (finally) develop a sense of inhibition. At least I’m crossing my fingers that I will. Maybe when I’m 22.
Which reminds me: why is there nothing monumental or defining about turning 22? It’s just like turning 8 or 14 and very much unlike turning, say, 1 (because it means I managed to not annoy my parents for 12 months, so they decided not to smother me in my sleep or to leave me in a basket outside some rich spinster’s doorstep who actually hates children and will probably do something horrible to me. Like feed me to mice or give me to the manong mambobote); or 18 (when my folks were more than happy to serve my debutante-ness upon a fluffy pink and silver platter, begging not-necessarily-eligible bachelors to whisk me off to a life of domesticity. There were no takers, though, and I blamed it on the fact that I knew jackshit about doing the laundry, making sammiches or shining black leather shoes back then. So I proceeded to skill myself in those areas of housewifery, and also, to give good head).
So I don’t know, maybe I’ll make something out of turning 22. Something that isn’t asinine or sarcastic, like most of my goals are (my 2007 Game Plan is one exception— I’m dead serious about that). One thing’s for sure: I’d like to have more Me Time this coming year. Or no, not Me Time, since I get enough of that during my daily commute to and from work; just more Quiet Time. I’d like to not find myself in a tizzy come the weekend.
Or maybe what I need is More Time. Okay, so that brings my wishlist to include two things: A Tan and More Time. Also, the complete Nancy Sinatra collection, please. There, three.
May 4, 2007 at 2:48 am | Filed under breaking up the girl
All right, it’s my birthday month. One of these days (as soon as I’m done screwing and gallivanting around town with them highschool boys— I don’t like them young and stupid, cos I’m young and stupid enough. But you know. Little boys. Cute), I’m gonna post my wishlist. I’m keeping it short this year to prepare myself for disappointment. Really, there’s only one thing I want, and that is A Tan.
Which I squatteringly achieved yesterday— a day which I shall aptly call The Day Helga Got Pwned By The Metro And The Bank And The Universe, In General— by walking the length of St. Ignatius Village to the corner of P. Tuazon in Katipunan Extension at 10 in the morning. I lack sleep and am in no mood to go into details and re-count the whole horrid experience, so I’ll document it, ECTTUS-style (aka APAC-style, hyukhyuk): I not ok. All not ok. But ok!. My mom saved the day and my ass (and my flatmates’ asses. Mammy, I love you! I’d marry you if only you weren’t married to Dada! And you wouldn’t have to deal with a 21-year old freeloader of a daughter!), but not without a string of I-told-you-so’s. All while I was standing under the sun, waiting for the village shuttle, and crying. In a race against time. Dun dun dun dun. People were looking at me funny, so I threw in a “Baby! Wag moko iwan!” line for good measure.
So I’m officially broke and will have to live on rice and soy sauce or rice and Star Margarine or leftovers found in fastfood dumpsters until next next Tuesday if I want to support my Marlboro and Starbucks habits. I’ll be mooching off my mom again until further notice, and there goes my plan of moving back into our condo this Saturday (for good). Turning 22 and in a state of destitution— how did life become this harsh? Is it because I curse too much? Drink too much? Or is it because I’m shallow? Or petty? Or just plain obese? Or is it because I incessantly Twitter and post at TMB while I’m at work? Whyyyyy? Also, if the links are funky, that’s because I’m using a proxy with a bunch of things turned off (like scripts, so my MyBlogLog and Twitter widgets don’t work, puh), for ultra-stealthy surfing.
I hate banks. If I could have it my way, I’d keep all my monies in a can hidden in the back of my closet.
Oh look, it’s almost 4am. I managed to survive the day!
May 1, 2007 at 9:59 am | Filed under technicolor lover
Over the weekend, I finally found the time to finish reading Dark Love.
And I’m so squatter, I have a steno pad.
No more issues! Just that ever-so-familiar falling-apart kind of weariness.
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. 
