SO THERE’S THIS SLEAZEBAG…

July 14, 2008 at 2:51 pm | Filed under bitchin' a ride

O hai, I has kweschun: What would you do if you woke up one early morning and you realize that the guy sleeping beside you (who is not your boyfriend or anyone you’re dating, for that matter) was rubbing your right nipple?

YOU MAKE KITTY SCARED (READING REVIEWS ON ALLI)

First, I pushed his hand away (hindsight tells me I should’ve gotten up and punched him in the face). Then I turned my back on him. I was scared and I wanted to cry (this was my same reaction when, months ago on my way to school, the dude seated to my left in the FX lightly touched my left boob). Anger came a short while later. I had to endure several hours of being two inches away from the sleazebag, all the while I was thinking: “do I let this pass? Do I pretend nothing happened?” Backtrack to a couple of months or so ago when this same dude was trying to hug me in my sleep. I had pushed him away, too, yet said nothing the next morning. Obviously, somebody needs to learn a lesson and keep his hands to himself. When I finally woke up and was lucid, I was in a sour mood and ready to shank a bitch.

It takes a lot to anger me. Sure, I am easily rattled and it doesn’t take much provocation to send me into a verbal frenzy of cursing, but I hardly ever resort to violence. Not even that time when I was pinned up against a metal railing by a guy who then proceeded to grind his crotch up my ass, or when this tricycle driver held my hand when I gave him my fare. This was too much, though, and I couldn’t, for the life of me, think of any other way to deal with what had happened.

I caught him unaware, like he did me. He was sleeping when I smacked him several times. With a shoe.

I smacked him so hard (at least I’d like to think so) that the shoe flew off my hand and landed several feet away.

Is that how you get your jollies, asshole? Obviously, you fail with fully-conscious women, so you choose to have a go at them while they’re asleep and, to a certain extent, defenseless. You better pray I don’t ever see you again. Just so you know, my knee? It has an appointment with your ‘nads. And just like the last time, I’m going to make sure you didn’t see it coming.

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HALPZ, I’M STUCK IN WWW CIRCA 2003!

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.

You know what I need to do? Buy memory for my laptop.

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QUICK ENTRY TO GET IT OVER WITH.

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. I’m about to hurl some barcode scanner against a wall.

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A LOL-EX.

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?

I’d like to stab him with some promotional pens.

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LET’S GET TO KNOW ME THE EASY WAY!

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. On an unrelated note, check out this Sale here.

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