I’m not really a talkative person. I’m serious. When out with friends, I’d rather everyone just shut up. Yes, I am exaggerating but you get my point: I’d take awkward silence over having the air filled with drivel and stupid banter. I hate it when people open their mouths for the sake of hearing their own voice and I hate unnecessary talking. Of course, “stupid” and “drivel” are relative and my favorite people and dearest friends are always brilliant and compelling conversationalists. They also provide a lot of lulz and advice on adult acne treatments (okay, maybe not).

When I was in high school, a boy peer once remarked that my future husband would probably be the unluckiest dude in the world because I was bound to be a nag of a wife. He then proceeded to mimic me: he raised his arm, jabbed his finger in the air and went “wah! wah! wah!” in a shrill, un-Helga voice. It was pretty silly and I (will admit) kinda hurtful. Whatever; I could see how Teenage Helga was obnoxious. I also didn’t really learn how to modulate my voice ’til I was in college.

I like quiet. Some days, I can go without uttering a single word out loud. On most days, the only conversation I have is when I have to buy something: “Isang pack ng Marlboro Reds” or “Stored value” or “Dalawang orders ng siomai, take out, no chili.” It’s a little sad but I’ve gotten used to it the same way I’ve gotten used to absence, to waiting.

© Helga for DITZ-REVOLUTION.NET - Helga Weber's Personal Blog, 2010. | Permalink | 2 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Filed under: breaking up the girl, ditz drivel

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

It’s worse when it’s a Monday and I have to shuffle my feet out of bed and through my morning coffee and put on clothes that are too hot to wear. I’d rather spend the day on the xbox 360 or on my couch marathon-ing Lipstick Jungle and Cougar Town.

I sound bratty, I know. Some people don’t have jobs etc etc.

On a lighter note: four days ’til the weekend.

A poem:

The Quiet World (Jeffrey McDaniel)

In an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,
I know she’s used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

And a photo:

Special chicken chelo kebab half-swimming in garlic/white sauce. If this grosses you out, you’re not eating your special chicken chelo kebab right.

© Helga for DITZ-REVOLUTION.NET - Helga Weber's Personal Blog, 2010. | Permalink | 2 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Filed under: breaking up the girl, food, photos

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

LJ entry, December 17, 2005 (oh, how I remember this month of that year, and how badly in need I was of holiday cheer and how I didn’t get it):

New Year’s is the only thing I’m looking forward to. Christmas is going to be spent with my parents at the house in Antipolo, which is devoid of sparkly lights, gifts, tinsel and anything else related to Christmas. I’m probably going to spend the 24th and 25th sleeping or in front of the computer or watching DVDs while stuffing my face with non-Christmas food.

This does not make me happy because I will remember those years when my family used to celebrate Christmas and there were gifts to open and a tree to decorate and an inflated snowman to hug and Christmas carols to sing along to.

[...]

I swear, when I have my own family, Christmas will be celebrated every year. I’m going to do all those annoying Filipino traditions, like start decorating the house as soon as the -BER months hit and won’t take them down until February. I will search high and low for an inflatable snowman, just like the one we used to have in our house in Los Banos, so my children would have something plastic and poofy to hug. I will also let them put whatever they want to put on top of the tree, just like how my brother and I would take turns putting our favorite toys on top of ours.

And I will not be boring and uncreative and just hand them money because I will give them real gifts wrapped in Christmassy paper with gold ribbons on top. The gifts will be unexpected and surprises, because I remember how happy I was this one Christmas when my mom and I went shopping and she wouldn’t buy me this toy gun I wanted, and then come Christmas morning, I open one of the gifts and there it was.

Okay, I’m making myself sad again. Last year’s Christmas was fun, but it can never compare to my childhood Christmasses when it was just the four of us in a little town, snapping photos of two happy kids opening presents and two happy parents opening badly-wrapped packages with scraggly “Merry Christmas Mommy and Daddy”s written all over them.

Last year’s Christmas was fun…? Luckily, that LJ account held my blog entries to as early as April 2004. A few clicks and I found this:

LJ entry, December 25, 2004:

I fell on my left arm and my cousin pushed me towards a wall and so I am now drubk, paralyzed (my left-side, that is), with a massive bukol on my head. I am also v v v v hoarse, thanks to the videoke machine.

I was crying like anything half an hour ago. And then I decided to just eat the pain away (with my right hand side). Until my moomy came along and said:

Anak, don’t over-eat again. Pag nalaglag ka na naman, naku.

I’m, crying again. Headache.

I can’t find my cam and my phone. Which is kinda irowneec, since my phone is glow in the darkey.

My knee hurts, too. And I think I’m bleeding.

Right. Sounds like fun.

Stuff for your promotional items. Yay.

© Helga for DITZ-REVOLUTION.NET - Helga Weber's Personal Blog, 2008. | Permalink | 15 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Filed under: breaking up the girl

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Love grows in me like a tumor,
parasites bent on devouring its host.
I’m developing my sense of humor,
till I can laugh at my heart between your teeth,
till I can laugh at my face beneath your feet.

Oh it’s so embarrassing
I’m this awkward and uncomprable thing,
and I’m running out of places to hide.

Now excuse me while I disappear and search for the meaning of life, love, and the best natural skin care products…or until the next PayU2Blog deadline.

© Helga for DITZ-REVOLUTION.NET - Helga Weber's Personal Blog, 2008. | Permalink | | Add to del.icio.us
Filed under: breaking up the girl

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

Two days into the week and I’ve already had enough heart attacks (caused by my stupidity) to last me until I finally and glamorously keel over and die of a drug overdose on the eve of my 25th birthday. You could say I haven’t been having a good week and I can only hope that the sucktitude has reached its peak when I accidentally deleted Adobe Photoshop on my office-issued Mac machine this morning, five minutes into my shift.

Wonderful, isn’t it. Like getting a car insurance online quote. What a techno-genius, this Helga.

When I finally got home from work, there was a merry group of beady red ants convening on my bed. MY BED! I swallowed my fear of the evil creepy-crawlies and— one by one— squished them between my index finger and thumb, gleefully exclaiming DEAD! with every kill. Nuking them with insect spray would’ve been easier but that would require asking my dad where he keeps the spray can which would trigger a slew of questions which would eventually lead him and my mom into banning me from snacking while in bed. Living with the parentals is an everyday challenge, I tells ya.

Enough thinking out loud. It’s an hour into Wednesday aka Hump Day and everything’s going smoothly. The internets is not acting up (or conking out like it did on me, Monday early morning) and the weather is perfect for sleeping in (yes, it’s 1 in the morning and I’m thinking about sleeping in). But I can’t. I hope everyone’s been having a better last-two-weeks than I am.

© Helga for DITZ-REVOLUTION.NET - Helga Weber's Personal Blog, 2008. | Permalink | 13 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Filed under: breaking up the girl, ditz drivel

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

That up there would be my baby, Peachy. We got her December last year so I’m guessing she’s about 6-7 months old. Now as much as I love cats (and all animals, actually, except ugly ones like snakes and chihuahuas) and despite having a handful for pets, I admit to not knowing much about them (save for cat care basics and how to keep them happy and cute).

So OMG, why is my baby in heat!!! She’s not even allowed to date yet!

Peachy isn’t spayed since my mom plans on finding her a fine upstanding Siamese boycat to mate and breed with. The thing is, she’s still too young to have babies and her being in heat is killing me. I asked the internet for help (meaning I googled ‘cat is in heat‘) hoping I’d find some tips to make it a little easier for Peachy. Aside from this completely horrifying tip involving a Q-tip and some very unfunny youtube videos, I also learned that there are health risks (risks that eventually lead to death) involved when you don’t have your kitty spayed.

I feel like crying.

She keeps calling out for tomcats and it’s driving me insane and all I want to do is let her out of her cage but I don’t want her mating with the ugly neighborhood males, either. Lover keeps telling me not to stress about it and I keep trying to convince myself that it’s for her own good but whenever I hear her meowing pitifully, my heart just breaks.

Have any of you ever had to deal with a cat in heat? Help!

Check Stargate Cinema for your (most likely non-existent) home theater carpet needs.

© Helga for DITZ-REVOLUTION.NET - Helga Weber's Personal Blog, 2008. | Permalink | 19 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Filed under: breaking up the girl

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

You know what I want— what I really want— for my birthday? Ice cream over cupcakes and him mouthing the words “I love you” at me from across the table.

Bah.

Check out Disposable Medical Express for a wide selection of adult and baby wipes, among other medical supplies.

_____
23 for 23 is me posting one birthday-related entry a day (or at least attempts to), ending on May 31st. See all posts here.

© Helga for DITZ-REVOLUTION.NET - Helga Weber's Personal Blog, 2008. | Permalink | 16 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Filed under: 23 for 23, breaking up the girl, mr wonderful

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

It’s sad and what’s sadder is that I wasn’t able to see her off. Klassy and I go way way way back, to a time when she was known as ‘bursting at the seams’ and I, ‘sicfairy’. Ours is a friendship founded on Hanson (yes, the band) but based on so much more. It’s a nice big bundle of crazy, of fangirl-isms, of scream-singing in cars, of drunken nights, of themed parties, of Fun Times At 20 Avelino Street, of ugly green and white uniforms, of catholic schoolgirl angst, of Katipunan Avenue meanderings, of LJ-ing, of “rabid like burning chlamydia”, of emo porch moments, of hookah!, of purple clay penises!, of lezzie love, of love, of being there for each other, and… it’s cheesy and sappy, but it’s actually harder to write about her than I thought it’d be.

It’s odd knowing that she’s not within texting distance nowadays. Like, “K, wanna have coffee, let’s” kind of distance. Like, “K, it’s Tiesto tomorrow, wanna watch, let’s” kind of distance. Like “K, gather the kids, let’s do something” kind of distance.

Now it’s an “I’ll see you, I’ll come visit you. Not soon, but I will!” kind of distance. And it’s sad.

So I’ll leave it at that, although Klassy deserves more than a blog entry (and definitely a BETTER blog entry than this) from me.

TWO OF MY FAVORITE THINGS IN THE WORLD: KLASSY AND KUPCAKES.
O-HO! DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE!

Two more geeky things after the cut.

(...)
Read the rest of Klassy With A K: My Lez Lover (24 words)

© Helga for DITZ-REVOLUTION.NET - Helga Weber's Personal Blog, 2008. | Permalink | 16 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Filed under: breaking up the girl

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

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.

And maybe some cheap memory sticks.

© Helga for DITZ-REVOLUTION.NET - Helga Weber's Personal Blog, 2008. | Permalink | 12 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Filed under: breaking up the girl

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh

It hits me at the weirdest times, like on my way to the bathroom he uses when he’s at my place or worse, when I figure out a code and have to share my success as a geek with someone (which happens a lot lately, considering that all I ever do now when I’m home is code. Hello, escapism).

It’s lonely without lover.

(...)
Read the rest of WELL, HOW WONDERFUL. (567 words)

© Helga for DITZ-REVOLUTION.NET - Helga Weber's Personal Blog, 2008. | Permalink | 18 comments | Add to del.icio.us
Filed under: bitchin' a ride, breaking up the girl, mr wonderful

Feed enhanced by Better Feed from Ozh