OR. THIS COULD BE PMS.

September 12, 2007 at 5:04 am | Filed under bitchin' a ride, photos

BitchFace, grrawr!

I’m guessing it’s almost that time of the month that’s bringing about all these homicidal thoughts. This is not good, as I’m prone to think and act recklessly when annoyed and tend to be standoffish towards people whom I would otherwise adore, had my hormones not been acting all loony. I’m also irrationally paranoid and extra emotional during this time, which leads to resentment and bitterness over not being coddled and babied.

And then there are days where I’d rather be left alone to sulk.

Hey, at least this is just me PMS-ing. It’s a comforting thought that I’m not normally this way and that I’ll be back to my regular self in…in…in a couple of weeks. I’m bracing myself for the impending CARBS! CARBS! GIMME CARBS! (and a micro sd!) phase that I go through, too. Oh boy.

Work LOL:

Caller: Umm, hi. I just made an itinerary and I accidentally cancelled it.
Helga: …Okay. And what do you want me to do?
Caller: Get it back?
Helga: …It’s been cancelled. I can’t uncancel it?

Seriously, we’re not God here.

I screwed up yesterday while testing password protected posts: I edited my templates-functions-post.php file to come up with a customized message which messed up several files which in turn barred me from logging in to my WordPress dashboard. Suffice to say, that caused me an unfitful sleep. You laugh, but I refuse to get pwnt by some code.

Anyway, I’ve learned my lesson: password-protecting entries is gaynage.

FIVE AM! Time to go home! To a messy house and a sink full of dirty dishes, I bet. Argh.

Comments (9)

AGAIN, I HATE MY JOB.

September 10, 2007 at 11:56 pm | Filed under a waste of human capital, bitchin' a ride, mr wonderful

I’m getting more and more aggravated with my job, and I’m seriously thinking about resigning and making a career out of selling colon cleansers. This is how I usually feel on Mondays, the most stressful day of the week, but this has been my disposition the whole week last week. In the beginning (aka these past six months), I was somehow able to contain my annoyance; now, the novelty has worn off, I’m quickly losing my patience with the account, and I constantly find myself in a bad mood.

The only thing holding me back from tendering my resgination is that I don’t have time to look for (yet) another (call center) job. I need to get out of this industry, and I swear I will. Eventually.

Moving on to happier un-stressful things, I once again had a calorie-laden sexy-mancandied weekend involving the sinful combinations of cupcakes and ice cream, rum and cola, and (a lot of) fried chicken and rice. Life in binaries, how fun.

Diet. This week. Waking up on a Sunday morning chanting “Cupcakes cupcakes cupcakes!” speaks volumes about how out of control we are.

Something the mancandy sent me that got me giggling at 730pm:

“You really don’t see it?”

I really don’t. :cute:

(He’s been insisting the whole weekend that I have Vanessa Hudgens angles. I’m amused, but I think it’s simply old age affecting his eyesight. Also, I’m going easy on the blush.)

Comments (13)

NOT. WORTH. IT.

September 7, 2007 at 5:01 am | Filed under bitchin' a ride

I hate it when my temper gets the best of me (because a bad mood is no excuse to be rude to other people), but I hate hate hate it more when I can’t do anything about it but suck it up and try my hardest to keep calm. And sulk. And wallow in self-pity for feeling as powerless as this.

I want nothing more than to stock up on appetite suppressants, starve starve starve starve myself to skinniness, and lock myself up in my room.

ARGH.

Comments off

THAT IS NOT A SEXY TUMMY.

August 14, 2007 at 10:25 pm | Filed under bitchin' a ride, photos

Because my discipline and self-control (which were never really much, to begin with) can be likened to a two-dollar ho (cheap and easy. Okay, so maybe just easy) whenever faced with ice cold beer and mounds of cooked rice, my midsection is now disgustingly out of shape.

“WTF, did I swallow a keg?” pose.

I CAN PINCH AN INCH!

Beer. It’s bad for you.

Years ago, not only did I have a flat tummy, I actually had badass! swimmer abs. Of course, when you’re a 13-year old highschool sophomore surrounded by genetically skinny girls with numchucks for arms and legs, the 3 Ts (thin, tan, and toned?) go unappreciated (if not hated). Okay, so I wasn’t thin then; ‘athletic’ would be the more apt term. But I definitely wasn’t this fat.

I know there’s nothing more unattractive than unloading body drama on other people, so I won’t. But just to say: I do not have body dysmorphic disorder (Jesus, look at how ugly my belly button is! And my cellulite count outnumbers the population of Japan! And look how tight XXL panties are on me!)— on the contrary (and because I’m such a weird), there are certain regulation body defects of mine that I find cute. LIKE MY STRETCH MARKS. I think they add character. This is coming from a person who thought the same of burning cigarette holes into her Miriam College skirt (“Helga, WTF are you doing?!” “Adding character!” “No. You’re drunk.” “Yeah. That, too.”).

Tomorrow, I start working out again (and looking for an effective appetite suppressant).

Comments (41)

WENDY VS PETER PAN.

August 2, 2007 at 5:18 am | Filed under bitchin' a ride, technicolor lover

I won’t go into details anymore (as I am sorely aiming to keep my calm and do things in an ordered, adult-like, and legal manner) about the “little spat” I had with my landlord yesterday morning. Just thinking about the whole thing puts me in a terrible I-wanna-Shabak-technique-somebody mood. Because you do not talk to a person you do business with that way. You do not start a conversation by yelling at a person and you do not continue the conversation still yelling at the person when she has been nothing but cool-headed and civil all throughout.

Insert giant soothing sigh here.

Argh. Sometimes I wish I could run to my folks and have them sort out things for me, but all I’d probably get from them is a good verbal shellacking and yet another attempt to lure me back home to Antipolo. In a situation like this (I am SO fed up, like really), I just might pack all my stuff and move to the mountains to live a life of daily hugs and kisses from mom, dad, and The Creatures— something I haven’t had since I was 16. But no. I am not a kid anymore; I will handle this and I will figure this out myself. With the help of Allah, of course. And Allah’s sue-happy lawyer, yay!

And sometimes, I wish I still had it in me to fight dirty. Being a grown up is no fun. You have to deal with and go through all these trivialities, legalities, and niceties and bore yourself with the black-and-whites of things.

It’s odd how Katipunan failed to work its magic on me. This place is Neverland— people don’t grow up here. Sure, we all eventually get out of college and leave our sheltered middle-class upbringings to make like modern day proletariats and all that jazz. But we remain like college kids all our lives. BAH. I don’t know what I’m getting at. I guess this is me taking a serious stab at adulthood (and being repeatedly bitchslapped by it).

As a shining example of how unprepared I really am to take on adult responsibility: …HEE. My Starbucks barista crush remembers me. It’s been MONTHS since I last went to our building’s Starbucks and I was pleasantly surprised to find out that he was still working there. Nevermind that getting my coffee made me three minutes late for work. I’m, like, still swooning here: someone else had taken my order and when I gave my name for the cup, barista crush flashed me a smile and went “Oh hey, it’s Helda! (grumble) It’s been so long!” It’s the braces, man. The Braces.

Pffft. It’s such a schoolgirl thing to be attracted to.

You know what’s a funny term? Grand total. It makes me giggle. And rv camping.

Comments (22)