Archive for March, 2008
March 30, 2008 at 11:54 pm | Filed under lists, mr wonderful, the helga manual
It’s been a rough week for lover and me (a-ha, quick grammar lesson I picked up from Board X! When using “___ and me” or “___ and I”, the rule is, the “me” or “I” should make sense when the other person— represented by the blank— is removed), but I got over it and ended the week with a bang. By “a bang”, I, of course, mean A Much Needed Drink (Or Two. Or Three. Oh Who Am I Kidding, I Had Too Many).
Unfortunately, things are yet to get better for lover and it pains (whatta word) me that all I can do is show him my boobies and have goofy LOLcat cybersex with him to give him his happies. BAH. This morning, I kinda-drunk international-dialed him and this wouldn’t be a big deal and wouldn’t even merit a sentence in this blog had it not been the first time I heard his voice in almost two months (so sexeh, hiz voice!). It’s tough, folks, but I’m managing.
Over a year ago, Chris Brogan posted a list of 100 blog topics “I hope YOU write about”. It’s a long ass list and most of the topics are beyond my scope of interest (social media? Branding? Uh…blogging? What is this “blogging” thing you speak of?), so I do not hope to cover all 100 topics. I’ll definitely keep this in mind for days when I am in need of blog fodder.
Today’s blog topic is very random, as it is a very random Sunday. By the way, what’s YOUR favorite Alicia Keys song? Here’s ours:
WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE ALICIA KEYS SONG!
Helga: On The Wings of Love!
Allah: Wind Beneath My Wings!
Drew: Got To Believe In Magic!
Today, I give you my five rules for naming (my) kids (don’t worry, these rules have yet to be applied outside a Sims 2 setting).
1. Merging the dad’s and mom’s names is just wrong, gaudy, and totally not clever. In highschool, I had an insane crush on a guy named Rodmyr. Can you guess his folks’s names?
2. Not really a rule, but more like a pre-caution: have a name ready and make sure the nurse on duty is writing down the correct name. A former co-worker of mine is named Baby Regina. I’ve heard of a dude named Baby Boy.
3. The name has to be a…well, a full (aka REAL) name and not a nickname. I once met a girl named just Fe (and I no longer recall her last name, but it was pretty short, too. Like, three letters short), a just Dondy, a just Bob, and a just Mafe. First thing that came to mind: “Where’s the rest of your name?” How lazy were their parents? My pets have longer names.
4. Do not get creative with the spelling. Call me traditional, but I don’t see the need to be fucking around with otherwise okay-ly spelled names. Keeyauh? Alyxandreea? Marijayne? Qchristopher? Ccamryn?
5. Do not be trendy or “clever” when it comes to naming your kid. “Heaven” was bad enough a name. “Nevaeh” is punishment (of course, this is just preference. If you find those names cute…um). I also fail to grasp the logic behind names with apostrophes. Say’Yonce? Ramse’s? Asia’h? Da’nyelle? Makena’lei? W’H'Y’???
(All names mentioned in #4 and #5 can be found here. Just dig around a bit.)
What are your rules for naming (your) kids?
March 28, 2008 at 7:47 am | Filed under ditz drivel
Ever since I learned how to count (and contrary to popular belief, I did not learn how to count when I was in high school. I know I suck at math, but I don’t suck that much), I have always aspired for world domination. Unfortunately, life got in the way of this plan and I am guilty of slacking off. Now that I have realized and accepted that, it’s time that I set my priorities straight.
Step 1 of OPLAN: World Domination— acquire the necessary equipment:
A pen tablet that shoots laser beams!
Read the rest of this entry »
March 25, 2008 at 12:15 pm | Filed under breaking up the girl
I couldn’t think of a way to start this so I thought “Hey, maybe I should just type whatever comes to mind, for ten minutes, and leave it unedited.” This could work.
Today, I did something stupid and unearthed my old online journal accounts. There aren’t a lot left, as my old LJs have been deleted and purged. It’s a bit sad, really, especially when I remember my reasons for deleting them (and then proceeded to clean up my main LJ account). A clue: it involves a boy and some bitterness. And now, this place is in “danger” of deletion, spring cleaning, or maybe just stagnation. I never did confusion and disappointment well. But I tell myself: “No, Helga, you are not 17 anymore (nevermind that the boy and bitterness mentioned happened when I was 19 or 20, I forget, but it was beautiful while it lasted and that’s all I should remember) and this isn’t Livejournal.”
“Chin up,” I used to tell myself. And it used to work. (”Suck it up, you’re a pro”, too.) When you’re young and your biggest problem in the world is losing five pounds by the time bikini season begins, everything can be handled easily like ABC (sometimes with grace, sometimes with several proper stiff ones) and happiness can be beckoned back in a snap.
I really don’t know what I’m driving at. Lately, “I don’t know” seems to be my life’s theme and for once, not only am I not okay with it, I’m also okay with not being okay with it.
That’s my ten minutes. A lot of pauses, my fingers hovering above my keyboard. A lot of toggling, from this browser to change the song. A lot of wondering, if I’d lost my capability for reflection, for deep thought, for grand things.
Obviously, I am having issues. I’d like to keep things pretty and so I will try.
I miss words. Playing with words. Seeing how many words I can cram into one sentence and still keep its coherence. Not being shy to use certain words in certain contexts.
I miss those little wagers I used to hold with myself. If I can go through the week subsisting on strong coffee and cigarettes, he will love me. If I lose weight and fit into this pair of jeans from when I was a senior in high school, he will love me. If I can just resist the urge to talk to him, if I can just resist the urge to let him know that his indifference bothers me, I will win him over.
I miss being unforgiving and having the guts and the willpower to make a decision and stick to it.
I miss being fascinated by people. Perhaps this is not under my control because it’s possible that people have gotten less fascinating in the last few years or maybe there’s a lack of fascinating people this side of the world. But. I miss being wow-ed and rendered speechless (or breathless) by something that doesn’t consist of pixels and/or codes.
I miss playing Pokemon Yellow and drunken Free Cell. And winning!
I miss Katipunan Avenue. On a dreary post-rain gray weekday afternoon. In my uniform. In the rain. From my dorm room window. At 2am, stumbling home, drunk. Fuck— at 6pm, in my uniform, stumbling home, drunk.
Right now, a drink is what I need.
March 21, 2008 at 4:54 am | Filed under admin, bitchin' a ride, the helga manual
Helga Gabrielle Weber. Turning 23. Gemini. Youngest daughter. Is hoping her folks never feel the need to google her name.
Recently moved in with her folks. After six years of not living with them. Is slowly adjusting to eating actual and real breakfasts aka “PLZ, DAD, JUST ONE ORANGE, NOT TWO”. Will never adjust to parental nagging and questions on what time she’ll be home and what is she doing still up when she has class tomorrow.
Studied International Studies majoring in International Politics for four years. Attended an exclusive all-girls Catholic college. Was PWND by her Little Thesis That Could (But Wasn’t). Currently taking formal classes in web design. Aspires to be a web designer and graphic artist. Wish her luck. Or give her money. Either works, but the latter is preferred.
Fell down two flights of stairs twice. She was drunk. Once busted her wrist when she attempted to do a yoga position. She was drunk. Once crossed half of Katipunan Avenue at three-ish in the morning to sit on a U-turn slot’s cement road block. She was drunk. She managed to sit her ass on it, though, for a few seconds before sliding off the thing.
No longer drinks. As much as she used to. No longer gets drunk. On a nightly basis.
Still smokes. A lot. Marlboro Reds.
Loves cats. Has bites and scratches to prove it.
Has been operating on PST this past half and a month. And no, that PST does not stand for Philippine Standard Time.
Has days when she’s the target of unwanted male attention. Can’t decide which day was worse: that one morning on her way to school and she woke up in an FX and the bastard to her left had his fingers on her left boob. Orrrr that time she was on her cigarette break and the sleaze who looked up her skirt had the nerve to smile at her when she caught him.
Constantly drafts open letters to the Filipino masses in her head. These open letters usually begin with “You don’t know me and neither do I know you, but I know you well enough to know that you fucking suck. And smell. Really really bad. Especially when it’s 5pm and we’re all on our way home and you’re sitting thisfrikkenclosetome. Some sound advice: keep your armpits to yourselves. And please stop eating, you’re already too fat.”
And these open letters usually end with “And please stop talking don’t talk to me because no way in hell am I going to tell you where I live. Kk. Go away.”
Thanks to everyone who offered me hosting and everyone who wished they could give me some of their bandwidth (lol)— I really do appreciate it. I’ve solved my bandwidth issues, finally upgraded my Wordpress, and got helgaweber.com which shall serve as a playground or portfolio of some sort. I feel so flofeshonal now, teehee.
March 18, 2008 at 6:21 am | Filed under Y!M conversations
Last entry before my site goes down today, I guess.
Helga: What do you think of this. I dunno. Vignettes of despair or something.
Helga: So. Two people chatting
Helga: Webcams on
Helga: And one person decides to hang himself/herself on cam.
Helga: And the other person cant do anything.
Helga: Awesome, huh?
Drew: hoy
Drew: chaka
Drew: and the other person decides to hang laundry
Drew: wet underwear
Helga: sa outtakes na yun
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. 
