Archive for breaking up the girl
April 27, 2007 at 10:53 am | Filed under breaking up the girl
Going through a ridiculous bout of emo. This, I realized on my way home today, and that it’s actually been going on for quite some time now (like, since Monday).
It’s not even issueses. I think I’m just being my typical self: movie’s just started, and already I’m fastforwarding to the credits, imagining my own ending. And the journey in between, usually peppered with lots of telenovela-like scenes. And dialogues. Like “Nahihibang ka na! Dun ka sa Palawan! Kung san madaming buwaya!” and “May taning na ang buhay mo! Tara dun sa banyo! Kung san madulas!” and such.
Perhaps Prozac can stabilize my emotions. You know what would be awesome? Tanduay pills.
The morning I got up to begin this book I coughed. Something was coming out of my throat: it was strangling me. I broke the thread which held it and yanked it out. I went back to bed and said: I have just spat out my heart.
-House of Incest, Anais Nin
April 26, 2007 at 8:54 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, joyful girl, the helga manual
It’s the unexpected little things that will always make me happy. That, I realized yesterday early evening when I went to our building’s Starbucks (as I always do, when I have a few minutes to spare) to get my pre-shift caffeine fix. A few feet away from the counter, my barista crush looks up, flashes his very D-like braces at my direction and greets me with a “Hi, Helga.” I smile back, throw my money down and give my order. “Starting work?” Small talk, I love small talk. “Here’s your drink, Helga, see you again later,” as I leave.
Nevermind that he still spells my name as Helda.
Also, things like getting a Phase IV right on the first try (you are not Sabre-trained, you are not a travel agent— so yes, what the what is a Phase IV, right. Take my word for it: it’s complicated shit). Victory! Pwned!
And the way my direct supervisor calls all the girls in my batch “sweetheart” (I wonder what he calls the boys, then) and when he says “rock and roll” or “I’m ready to rock, are you ready to roll?” or “is that going to rock? Cos let’s roll” when I’m just about to make like a te-te-terrorist and wreak havoc on all flights from today until June 18. Of next year. Said supervisor also has very D-like braces, but then I think I think all men with braces have mouths that look like D’s.
I’m starting to answer to the name Heather. In real life. I’m not sure how I feel about this.
Today was a horrible day at work. And I survived. But just barely.
Michael: Angel bailed me out.
James: Angel?
Michael: Well, actually, Angel bailed you out.
James: Me?
Michael: Yeah, I told the police I was you.
[James gawks in disbelief]
Michael: Oh James, it’s just all in fun. And after I told them you had AIDS, they gave me my own room with a VCR and ice cream!
James: Michael, I don’t even like you! I have never liked you!
-Party Monster
Yeah, that’s basically today’s emotions.
January 2, 2007 at 2:06 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, the single girl phenomenon
I’M SPECIAL, RIGHT? By that, I don’t mean ’special kid’ who needs to wear a bib at the age of 21 to protect herself from her drool; I’m talking Avril Lavigne Like-I-Was-Special-Cos-I-Was-Special kinda special.
I’M A SPECIAL GIRL AND I WANT MY LIFE TO HAVE A FUCKING DRESS REHEARSAL TO PREPARE ME FOR THE REAL THING.
Yes. Helga The Weber fucked up. Again.
I knew this day would come, and I’m actually sadder than I thought I’d be. What a way to fucking greet 2007: drunkenly and intentionally spilling my drink on Austin’s (yes, that’s Chuchubells’ real name) cousin, being taken home, sitting in the back of the car with him in front— drunk and mad and blabbering, me intoxicated beyond coherence and just sitting there quietly (I fucking hope!), letting myself into our compound, sitting in the dark— in our driveway, beside the exercise machine, trying to figure out how I managed to fuck up.
I should’ve gone to Rockwell with my friends. They ran into Mark Herras.
And so it is over, and I had the gall to be the one to end it. “K, we’re done.” No reply, no acknowledgement. Fine. I’ll take what Ely said and accept that I might not ever get that. Allah called him up and a woman answered his phone. Yeahok, I AM LETTING IT GO. I am sad, I like the guy A LOT, but I am letting it go.
D and I are friends. At last. GOD, IT IS TAKING HIM FOREVER TO REPLY TO MY E-MAIL (but he e-mailed me first, okay) AND I NEED TO TALK TO SOMEONE WHO WILL MAKE ME FEEL LESS SHITTY. Aa couldn’t do it, neither could my housemates. I know D is the one person who can. And that’s just sad.
Sit on the bed alone, staring at the phone.
He wasn’t what I wanted, what I thought, no. (HE IS!)
He wouldn’t even open up the door. (HE WOULD!)
He never made me feel like I was special. (HE DID!)
He isn’t really what I’m looking for. (HE IS!)
He never made me feel like I was special. (HE DID! HE DID!)
Like I was special, cos I was special.
NYE2007 photos to follow.
November 19, 2006 at 5:05 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, technicolor lover, the single girl phenomenon
I don’t want to wax emoetic over the fact that D just dumped me last night, three hours before my shift for work. Boyfriend is in Galera right now, and after two days of being incommunicado, he finally texts me. What we had was awesome, but hey, let’s stop blah blah blah. I told him I always kept my end of the bargain (kinda), and that I respect his decision, but I’m not about to be friends with him.
And that I don’t know which is sadder: the possibility of me never having good sex again, or that I’ve finally lost him :cute:. But enough about that. Let’s quote one of my favorite break-up songs: LiLo’s Over (by the way, I’ve reconstructed my Oh Well— WHAT WASTED UNCONDTIONAL LOVE!— playlist to include some RnB songs for major heartbreak. Oh why did I have to fall for a man who listens to RnB).
I watch the walls around me crumble, but it’s not like I won’t build them up again.
I realized over coffee, cigarettes, and the Oh Well playlist that I’m capable of getting even without getting mad first. In a demented and masochistic way, of course. Running to his ex and spilling the beans (oh, did I mention? They broke up last week) isn’t something I’d do— that’s, like, totally B-class you-slept-with-my-boyfriend-you-slut! drama; and I’m all for the bitch-slut-whore-you-slept-with-my-friend!!! kind of thing. B+ drama, what’s up.
In other news, I fell down the stairs last Thursday and sort of sprained my lower back and my left arm. The new boytoy and I were supposed to go out for drinks Friday night, but I was too plastered from lunch (I kidnapped one of my co-workers and made it my mission to turn her into a Southern version of me. Translation: Project “Let’s Make Vida An Alcoholic”. We started drinking at 12 noon) and had to take a nap to prep myself for another night of fun social casualties. I woke up Friday night with MAJOR CHILLS, like mehn, my teeth hurt so much from chattering non-stop for two hours.
The spoiled brat in me kicked in— boytoy offered to take me to the hospital the next day (after WE have OUR car carwashed), which turned into “Do you want me to bring you to the hospital right now?”, to which I replied with an “Are you fucking kidding me, can’t you see it HURTS to even move my toes right now???”
He got me out of my miniskirt and put me in sweats, socks, and his jacket. Basically, his “I’m gonna rape you tonight” statement turned into “I’m getting you medicine, and you better eat something”.
Oh, and I’m at work. I refuse to take more paracetamol and mefenamic acid, because I am aiming for the clinic to send me home by lunch. So I can sit in my Vortex, smoke a pack of Marlboro Reds, and listen to the Oh Well playlist.
I won’t be the one to chase you, but at the same time you’re the heart that I call home.
:cry:
November 5, 2006 at 10:25 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, technicolor lover, the single girl phenomenon
I’ve been trying my hardest to not write about my relationship woes. But after a bottle of rhum, two hours of sleep, a ten-minute shower at 1am, a mad dash to get from Katipunan Avenue to Makati (while listening to Aimee Mann, Suzanne Vega, and Norah Jones), slipping on what’s supposed to be non-slip steps, scarring my shin, and still ending up NINEFUCKINGMINUTES late for work— please. I need this.
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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. 
