Let it be known to the world that I, Helga “The” Weber, a Filipino citizen of legal age residing in Loyola Heights, Quezon City, am probably having what could easily be tagged as The Worst Days of My Life.
You bet I wish I were exaggerating.
Now the last thing I want to happen is to immortalize the past few shitty days in the form of a blog entry that will magically have, well, the magical capabilities of Never Being Deleted. So I won’t write about it. Yes, I’m that traumatized. Instead, what I’ll do is go on a hunger strike!
This works perfectly, in pursuit of my lifelong ambition of becoming a trophy wife. I mean, I can’t sit on my ass all day, stuffing my face with insane amounts of convenience store breaded chicken strips while smoking pack after pack of Marlboro Reds and expect that some rich, good-looking, condominium building-owning old man would sweep me off my feet and bribe me (with all the KFC bucket meals I can eat, WarBook goldses, and tabloid articles about me three times a week) into a loveless marriage, can I? I mean, have you ever heard of a fat trophy wife? Can you even fathom the idea of one???
So my point is this: Hunger strike. Tic-Tacs and vodka diet. Dulcolax. Until I start feeling better or lose 10 pounds.
Today, I bleat at the world (while checking out equestrian apparel): MEH.