Archive for September, 2007
September 28, 2007 at 10:51 pm | Filed under the helga manual
One of the not-so-stellar facets of my otherwise very likeable personality is my tendency to blame everyone but myself. Okay, so that’s not very true as I actually have a deep sense of ownership and am the first to accept accountability for my actions and all that jazz, but it’s fun to pretend to be an asshole. Just as long as I’m not actually one, I tell myself.
I hardly got any sleep today, thanks to the incessant drilling and horn-tooting caused by the on-going sidewalk and road construction along Xavierville Avenue and RIGHTOUTSIDEMYBUILDING. But since I have mad skills (and a pretty thick comforter), I managed to slip into a fitful pseudo-sleep around noon…only to wake up three hours later to my housemate loudly singing along to Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas. NUTS.
And so I sat up on my bed, grabbed the nearest weapon I could find (a pair of black dusty pointed heels), flung my bedroom door open, charged towards the living room, and killeded my housemate. And everyone else in sight. After my 34-second killededing spree, I surveyed our living room and was shocked to see that I had killeded all my friends! Allah, Anna, Drew, Allah’s imaginary friend Fifi, Aa, and Klassy! All dead!
OH NOES, Murdererer!
IT’S ONLY MURDER, YOU GUYS, CALM DOWN!
Moving on: I don’t wanna go to jail for massacring a bunch of people, especially since they had it coming. It’s Their Fault They Died. So now I need a new group of Barbies to hang out with— preferrably Barbies who are replicas of my newly departed friends (but maybe not as noisy). If any good came out of this, it’s that I need new friends and YOU get the chance to be one of them, yay!
QUALIFICATIONS TO BE PART OF HELGA THE WEBER’S GANG OF DYSFUNCTIONAL BARBIES!:
1. Must like the taste of rum A LOT and must be able to pack alcohol like a fratman.
2. Must be a smoker. Marlboro reds being the choice of cancer, preferrably.
3. Must be able to aptly incorporate ‘Sheryl Cruz’ into a or any conversation.
4. Must uphold the sanctity that is Sunday Afternoon Tsismis.
5. Must uphold the sanctity that is Sunday Rumcola Supreme.
6. Must be able to make a mean pasta out of the following ingredients: pasta noodles, ground beef/chicken chunks/corned beef, and soy sauce.
7. Must be capable of completing a whole crossword puzzle or a whole Sudoku puzzle. Added bonus if capable of completing a whole crossword puzzle book or a whole Sudoku book.
8. Must have a history of clinical depression (to highlight the fact that I’ve never been clinically-depressed, therefore, I am normal) and drug abuse.
9. Must not be younger than 21.
Hurry and apply now, the weekend’s coming up and I’ve got lots of money to blow on booze, yay!
(Okay, not true. The rent plus the usual end-of-month deductions ated my salary. I’m most likely to live on piso packs of Boy Bawang until the next pay day. And I don’t even like Boy Bawang. Mommy? :()
September 27, 2007 at 3:57 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, photos
I was lying in bed yesterday morning, fighting off consciousness and willing myself to sleep (because it was, what, 9 in the morning and I needed to be up by 5 pm if I wanted to get to work on time?) when I heard my phone’s message alert tone go off. Because I know my sleeping habits well enough to know that it would take the Armageddon to rouse me from my slumber, I keep my phone a few good feet away from me whenever I sleep— if only to ensure that when the alarm goes off, I will be forced awake and out of my bed to turn the damn thing off.
So my phone sounds off and the first thing I think is “Oh wow, people are up Twittering early today”. I wait for the barrage of messages to come in, but that was it. Not the least bit sleepy, I unearth myself from under my comforter, kneel on the edge of my bed, and reach for my phone which was sitting on top of my pink plastic dresser.
It was my mom, telling me that Munky was dead.
Bye, baby cat. I miss you :(
(He was really my mom’s cat and she told me he went missing last Saturday and they were thinking someone catnapped him. My dad found Munky decomposing in our car port Tuesday, after being told by their laundry lady that she smelled something funny the previous day.
I wish someone just stole him from us, really :( At least he’d still be alive. Fleh.)
Third cat of ours to die. It’s funny how I’ve gotten used to the initial shock and pain of losing a family pet. I’m handling this better than that time when MY Bunso died, January last year.
September 19, 2007 at 2:49 am | Filed under college rat, the helga manual
I found this on Lili’s blog, and in this entry, I showcase to the world just how sophomoric my college paper writing skills are. Funny: when I wrote this shit years ago, I thought I was brilliant and had the makings of an ambassador ambassadress (which, if you still don’t know, is an ambassador’s wife. Idiot). Looking/reading back, I cringe a little at how childish I sound…ed. Hindsight is 20/20, they say. And the sad thing is, that’s as good as a writer I can get.
But first, what I found at Lili’s blog, care of Careercruising.com— you answer a crapload of questions and based on your answers, the website gives you a list of your top 40 compatible career choices. I find it amusing that ‘marriage and family therapist’ is part of my results. And GARDENER. The closest career choice to what I actually took up in college (International Studies, majoring in International Politics. With some units in Development Studies because I was fickle like that) is ‘politician’, which comes in at #37. I must point out that I never aspired to be a politician (perhaps a politician’s wife, yes. Hell, ANYONE’S WIFE, for that matter, would do).
It’s a long list so I’ll just post the top 10. This is why, five years later, I am still kicking myself H.A.R.D. in the ass for not taking up Communication Arts:
1. Director of Photography
2. Website Designer
3. Desktop Publisher
4. Director
5. Coach
6. Artist
7. Special Effects Technician
8. Multimedia Developer
9. Casting Director
10. Animator
Bah.
Out of boredom, I searched my main Gmail account for some of my old college reflection/reaction papers (actual papers weren’t submitted to professors via email and I didn’t pick up the habit of backing up my stuff via the intarwebs until today. Sad, because I remember writing kickass papers on Post-Cold War International Security, the Rwanda Genocide, and New Constitutionalism. Of course, I thought them kickass back then and I bet that if I manage to unearth and re-read said papers [which are saved in my ancient Toshiba], I’m most likely to end up disowning myself).
Excerpts from two of the funnies (aka Papers I Wrote) I found:
Read the rest of the entry »
September 18, 2007 at 4:44 am | Filed under joyful girl, mr wonderful, photos
Just to be cute (and for kicks. And while dicking around Wikipedia), I answered the CAGE questionnaire. Simply put, the CAGE questionnaire is a method to screen for alcoholism, and I have nothing funny to add to that. Because my “alcoholism” and the nature of my drinking (I drink like I have a goal and that goal is the total obliteration of this body organ we call the liver), I realize, is not something to laugh about.
The questions:
1. Have you ever felt you needed to Cut down on your drinking?
Yes.
2. Have people Annoyed you by criticizing your drinking?
Yes.
3. Have you ever felt Guilty about drinking?
Yes.
4. Have you ever felt you needed a drink first thing in the morning (Eye-opener) to steady your nerves or to get rid of a hangover?
Chyea-ah.
Phew. That was easy.
Two “yes” responses indicate that the respondent should be investigated further [...] A score of 2/4 or more is considered “alcoholism.”
NO WEI!!!
So anyways, this weekend— like any other weekend— was spent ingesting absurd amounts of alcohol. From chugging down can after can of beer at Top Gear‘s 3rd year anniversary party/car show at Tiendesitas to chugging down bottle after bottle of beer at JayJ’s last Saturday night (surprisingly enough, I wasn’t that blitzed: I came home before my housemates did, my heels were intact, and there were no beer or food stains on my white dress), to the standard Sunday Night Rum-cola Supreme with the Barbies. Again, I found myself not plastered plastered after about eight of us consumed several bottles of Tanduay. Either we didn’t drink enough or my alcohol tolerance is improving. I’m leaning towards the former.
I know it’s cropped and stuff and my neck and chin look weird (I was awesomely drunk and my face in the uncropped photo is a total oddity), but I super love this shot from two Saturdays ago. I must admit, though, that I don’t remember posing for a photo and that I can’t remember if we were at Pier 1 or JayJ’s when Drew took this:
MMMM.
I seriously need to take it easy on the alcohol and spend more time in bed. This company also needs better office furniture.
September 14, 2007 at 9:46 pm | Filed under photos, the helga manual
I think my lips are pretty awesome. They’re luscious and full (but in a non-anal spinchter kind of way), they’re shaped perfectly (I think), they’re naturally flushed (they used to be, like, red but almost eight years— z0mg, it’s been eight years?!— of smoking kinda dulled the rosiness) and they look soft. And they’re yummy. My lips are so hot, I’d date them if I could.
PUCKER UP!
Lookit those two hotties! Bad photo, I know. That’s how I look like when I don’t Sally-Hansen my femstache for a day and zap my zits with Panoxyl every eight hours. But aren’t my lips gorgeous? Angelina ain’t got shit on me.
I love my lips and I maximize their loveliness by making sure that they’re super prominent. This entails monthly collagen injections (when I’m short on cash and time or when my brother changed the hiding place for his Calayan gift certs, I just ask one of my housemates to punch me. Hard), whipping out a brown eye pencil and drawing an arrow (pointing towards them kissers) on my face whenever I’m in a room full of beautiful women, and making Zoolander lips everytime I see a camera pointed at my direction. If none of the abovementioned succeed in catching people’s attention, I shift to plan B which is usually me standing on any elevated surface with my shirt rolled up above my breasts while chanting “I need to reroute the encryption modules” over and over again.
MY LIPS. ON A GOOD DAY. SUCH UNEQUALED DICK-SUCKING LIPS.
Alina: PS: How can you have such a perfect big lips?
Tracy: Because God knew she’d give a lot of blowjobs
Yeah, that was pretty pointless.
More VH LOLs (side-by-sides made and sent by the insistent mancandy— who seems to have a thing for borderline jailbait cases):
MY LIPS ARE SO RED, I MUST’VE GIVEN SOMEONE HEAD. I RHYMED!!!
Truly? I sort of see it now.
Hi, I'm Helga Weber and welcome to my personal site. I'm 25 and in the process of learning how to make adventurous life choices. I dislike old people but I love grandma clothes. My goal in life is to build a ball pit right next to my bed. Currently searching for the perfect house coat. My lover is the greatest. 
