Archive for bitchin' a ride
April 25, 2008 at 12:34 pm | Filed under art & design, bitchin' a ride
Day 2 of Dreamweaver class and this is what we’re doing:
Tables.
Now I have nothing against tables. In fact, I love tables. They’re nice to put things on and though it’s been proven that they’re not needed to properly eat a meal (because under certain circumstances— say, when you find yourself in a remote island with no electricity, no running water, and no cellular reception— your lap, one of your hands or any steady surface would do), they still make things a hell lot easier.
But seriously, who still uses tables in webdesign? And why does this goddamn school feel the need to devote four precious hours to this outdated bullshit? When we could be spending our time learning something relevant, like, I don’t know, Flash pre-loaders? CSS sprites? CSS-based navigations? Global warming? The plight of drunken elephants in India??? ANYTHING but goddamn tables!
I’ve just been PWOT-ed. I half-expected our instructor to tell us to incorporate glitter graphics and animated butterfly gifs into the site we made today.
April 9, 2008 at 7:27 pm | Filed under art & design, bitchin' a ride
I promised lover an entry on something, but this insufferable heat has been keeping me from properly organizing my thoughts. Everyday, when I wake up, I ask myself: have I died and gone to hell? Cos it sure is hot today! Gatdamn!
It’s summer, my favorite season. Back in college this meant the beach, drinking sprees, and out-of-town trips. This year, it seems like I’m going to spend summer in the city, getting ridiculous farmer tans from having to walk fully-clothed under the sun. Not happy.
I’ve been meaning to change layouts (the same way I’ve been meaning to work on a theme for helgaweber.com) and I came up with this 5-10 minute thing last Monday (I wanted something summer-y):
Except I can’t seem to work a header/theme around it. Fail.
My code needs cleaning, too. It was so much easier to work on shit with coffee and cigarettes and in my underwear.
You can’t tell, but I’m RRY frustrated.
April 6, 2008 at 2:02 pm | Filed under bitchin' a ride, technicolor lover
If there’s one thing I don’t do, it’s recycling men. Sure, whenever I go through a break-up, there’s always that initial phase of bitching and moaning and pining— for a few days or weeks, I turn into a Lindsay Lohan song-quoting pile of woe-is-me self-destructive idiot (and no! I am not ashamed to admit I listen to LiLo!). Because really, no matter how big a dick the now-ex is or was, break-ups always hurt and it’s the kind of hurt that could only be cured by, let’s see, the now-ex waltzing back in to your life after realizing he was being such a stupo for ending things with you.
But really, once the opportunity for reconciliation presents itself, I run. Away. Okay, so maybe it’s more like a few unsure baby steps towards the opposite direction, before breaking into a sprint. But yes, you get the idea.
For those of you who have been following this blog since Day 1 (I’m looking at you, Tracy, teehee) and are still able to recall— what with all the somewhat shoddily documented accounts of my men here (huh)— that dude known as D is back. For the third time.
It’s absolute LOL material, now that I’m done being pissed off at not being taken seriously and at his arrogance. I would never have imagined a 6′3″ man can be as pitiful and desperate as this. His latest message, sent an hour ago, is one of those recycled SMS messages:
“I hate the time before I go to sleep…Because that’s when the thoughts I’ve been trying to avoid…start to linger…”
I haven’t been replying to his messages since Friday night, but I’m tempted to reply to this one with a “LULZ. Eh di mag-shabu ka.”
Has anyone ever had an unwanted ex come back into their life and act as if everything was just peachy?
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 11, 2008 at 8:16 pm | Filed under bitchin' a ride
This is probably going to do shit, but I am boycotting the Olympic Games. Like, I will not even watch a single game on TV.
This is probably going to do shit, too, but from now on, I wish all sorts of bad things upon Beijing. I hope your fucking economy crashes or something like that.
Doomed: Terrified cats crammed tightly into cages are hauled off to a meat market in Guangzhou
Thousands of pet cats in Beijing are being abandoned by their owners and sent to die in secretive government pounds as China mounts an aggressive drive to clean up the capital in preparation for the Olympic Games.
Hundreds of cats a day are being rounded and crammed into cages so small they cannot even turn around.
Then they are trucked to what animal welfare groups describe as death camps on the edges of the city.
Rest of the article here
But then, what do you expect from China— a country where human rights violations remain widespread and systematic? It’s not surprising that they treat animals this way.
This is sick and disgusting beyond words and something needs to be done about this.
I go hug my cats now :(
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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. 
