SOMEONE’S A STUDENT.

January 21, 2008 at 10:21 pm | Filed under camwhorage, ditz drivel

First day of formal web design class today and I was royally bored for the sole reason that I had to endure four hours of basic html/xhtml— stuff that I learned on my own when I was 12. Almost over ten freakin’ years ago.

The youngest in our small class of five is this 13-year old dude who just graduated grade school. He said he’ll be moving to the US for high school and he’s taking up web design so he could earn money during the wait (or something like that. The moment he said he was 13, I lost all interest). Several times, I heard him exclaim “I’m just a kid!” when we were made to work on an exercise). I kept thinking: “how lucky is this kid?” When I was 12 and had just discovered gURLpages and the wonderful world of HTML, it never hit me that I could make a career out of making and designing websites. There were no schools that offered courses or classes on it back then (hell, the school I’m attending now was founded only 7 years ago). I was just a kid fooling around with WYSIWYG editors, outlining her layouts and content on notebooks, and doing her best to make sense out of strings of code and tags.

I was young and stupid, though. Not realizing my full potential (naks!) at an early age and not taking seriously the fact that I knew how to code (during a time when all my peers did was chat on mIRC and ICQ and host their photos on face-pic.com), I merely dicked around the innurnets and went down the blogging path. Ten years later and I’m still dicking around. All I have to show is a good grasp of HTML and CSS and some knowledge on PHP. I am SO left behind. I don’t even know Flash! I only have Photoshop CS2! I just recently started using the pen tool for cutouts and I still prefer the lasso tool! I still code using Notepad!

Anyways, finally, I have a goal (one that isn’t amoral and doesn’t entail anything illegal): to be the first student to ever get a certificate of excellence from my school. The final project is to create a fully functional website and it’s quite alarming, how easy and simple it is. Did I just waste my mother’s money? To make up for the expense, I’m seriously tempted to make a porn site.

My new favoritest thing in the world: Hershey’s Cookies ‘n’ Creme milk drink. I was STAAAARVING the whole day because I forgot to eat the whole Sunday and I didn’t have time to ingest anything but coffee this morning, so I was super glad to come home to this (yeah, I’m shallow and easy to please like that):

Yummers.

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HAIR-RIBLE. OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS. MAYBE.

January 16, 2008 at 7:18 pm | Filed under camwhorage, mr wonderful

I’m due for a haircut; I’ve been due for one since, I don’t know, 1993. Okay, so maybe just late last year, but it feels like forever. My last haircut was April 2007 and the reason I’ve left my hair as is is because I want Norah Jones-esque curls. Except my mom said curls won’t suit my fat face and quite honestly, I think I agree. That, and my dry ends make brushing my hair a pain. So it’s time for a haircut.

Or maybe waves, not curls? Gaaah, I really want non-straight hair:

Egh. I’m bound to do something useless and just have the stylist at Fix do the usual: chop off two to three inches and add more layers. A stubborn and most lilkely to be wrong part of me wants bangs. Again. Even though the last time I grew them out and once again had normal layered hair, a gay friend looked at me and noticed FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THE MONTHS I’VE KNOWN HIM that I wasn’t “hideous” (that was the exact word he used).

Anyhoots. Bangs or no bangs?:

I know, I know. I have no non-retarded photos of me with bangs. Or without bangs. I am apparently incapable of just looking at the camera and not smiling or grinning like an idiot.

I’d like to go for a bob or super short hair, but I haven’t had short hair since forever:

HELP.

That’s all. Nothing exciting happening. My unemployed ass revolves around books, DVDs, and Sims 2. A conversation with the lover that took place the other night:

Helga: You know, our sims have sex everyday.
Lover: Nagpaparinig ka? (Trans: what are you trying to say?)
Helga: I should be able to just click on you: cuddle, kiss, make out, woohoo.
Lover: Oh my god.

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SINCE I WUZ GON.

January 2, 2008 at 3:45 pm | Filed under camwhorage, joyful girl, mr wonderful

I ended the year doing the most courageous, irresponsible, and courageously irresponsible thing in my 22 years of living: I quit work. I didn’t even properly hand in my resignation when I decided not to come in Christmas Eve. Like hell I’d spend the first few hours of Christmas in the office; it’s bad enough that my folks don’t celebrate the day, leaving me with nothing to be cheerful about.

But I did have lots to be happy about (even if my noche buena consisted of a Jamaican patty bought from a gas station convenience store, a dimsum swiped from lover, and a bag of potato chips) because I spent Christmas with lover. And okay, so I had Christmas dinner with my family, too, but Christmas sex > quality time with people you’re related by blood to and will probably never disown you even when you resort to online prostitution because you’re currently unemployed and have bills to pay, kk?

Notable conversations with the family:

#1: Mom (looking at the dress I was wearing, which barely covered my ass): That’s what you’re wearing?
Helga: Yeah?
Mom: It’s too short!
Helga: Fine. I’ll put on a skirt. (Puts on a mini skirt that added a quarter of an inch of coverage)
Mom: That’s better.

#2: Brother: So what now?! I thought I’d drop you off where you’ll eat and then I’ll go pick up Elaine (the girlfriend).
*silence, trying to figure out the night’s logistics and such, because my dad was being a priss and faking a headache so he wouldn’t drive)
Dad: Just pick up Elaine…dude.

#3: Mom: Si Daddy, parang artista. Suplado sa personal. (Trans: dad’s like a celebrity, a snob in person)

#4: Dad, putting in a CD of house music: Listen to this, this is nice.
Helga, after a few songs: *changes the track, quickly*
*silence*
Brother: …what was that???
Helga: A HALE SONG.

And then two days after Christmas, I found myself in hell (which can be found on Region I of the Philippine map under the town of Mangaldan, Pangasinan) for my mom’s cousin’s wedding (which I was a bridesmaid for. Those Mangaldan people, always getting me for their weddings. I was once maid-of-honor for another mom’s cousin and I didn’t even know the bride’s first name). I tell you: I hated that place when I was a kid, and I thought it wouldn’t be so bad now that I’m all grown up and shit but NO WAY, it was still just as bad. Actually, it was worse because there were more kids (I reckon about twenty of them) running and screaming around the compound, the old wrinkly people talked to you more cos you’re, like, nearer their age now and not some sulky ten-year old nagging her mom for cable tv, and the drunks hyphyer. All I wanted was to hole up in some room with a computer with internet and I went through all four houses looking for one and found none. Crazy.

La Union proved to be the third best thing since I changed my employment status to, well, unemployed and on my way to being broke. Except that bit when 20 people from Mangaldan decided to spend the night, but nevermind that. There’s something very zen about waking up at 9am, making my coffee, grabbing my cigarettes and an old issue of Cosmo, and spending an hour on the kubo by the pool with the rice fields and farm animals laid out in front of you.

And because I’m not in a blogging mood and have to catch up on all the internetty stuff I missed, here’s a shitload of pictures, starting with my new kitty, Poochie:

INSIDE HER BAG, ATTACKED BY A CAMERA

Read the rest of the entry »

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YOU WANTED AN ADDICTION AND YOU GOT ONE.

December 19, 2007 at 5:28 am | Filed under camwhorage, ditz drivel, pop culture and such

Me and my propensity to obsess over drama-filled “reality” tv shows, particularly those of the California-set variety (I guess those Upper East Siders are too classy to air out their dirt to the whole world via MTV). Tuesday morning, I saw myself shoving half a chocolate mousse cake (not half a slice of cake but HALF A FUCKING CAKE) down my throat while bitching about Spencer Pratt’s teeth. I’ve never been so far away from Hollywood.

Seriously. First, Laguna Beach; now, The Hills.

Can I just say that my heart swells every time I see The Hills’ opening sequence and hear the opening theme (Natasha Bedingfield’s Unwritten, which is my #1 Feel Good song). Especially that bit when it’s ending and the title scene glitters and sparkles on to the screen? This one?

Oh, the giddies.

Last Sunday, I dragged lover to Linden Suites for my college block’s yearly Christmas party. Technically, because I shifted out of Development Studies my senior year, they’re not my blockmates and they all really secretly hate me and probably a bunch of them made bets amongst each other that I’d end up pregnant or with an STD or stricken with cirrhosis or dead two point three months after leaving the hallways of Miriam College, but Clem begged me to show my fat face. And who am I to turn down an invitation to get hammered on a Sunday (or ANY day, for that matter)?

Unfortunately, I was sick for the most part of last week (upper respiratory tract infection, acute tonsilitis, fever, chills, a cough that wouldn’t quit, a dot that came five days late) and there were no boys to seduce (save for lover and well, he needs no seducing) so I pretty much behaved myself the whole night.

I AM HOLDING A MUG OF COFFEE WHILE LOOKING RETARDED!!!
(STFU ABOUT MY AZN BOOBS. LOVER CALLING ME EXPOSURE QUEEN IS ENOUGH)

Three things I learned that night:

1. Most of my batchmates are in Law school and they’re all losing weight. They suck.

2. One of us got knocked up.

3. My favorite professor gave one of the students from the batch before us syphillis.

I hate my job and my antibiotics. Still not in a blogging mood.

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IN SEARCH OF NEW ADDICTIONS.

December 7, 2007 at 5:09 am | Filed under bitchin' a ride, camwhorage, ditz drivel

The universe must be wonky this time of the year— it’s almost the weekend and I have yet to lust for alcohol. Most of you would probably see this as a good thing, but I’m telling you now: IT. IS. NOT.

You see, children, there was a time in my life when I was actually sober for roughly six months. By “sober”, I mean one beer a week (usually on a Saturday night after dinner and a movie). I also remember that for about two months during my senior year in college when my bloodstream and whatever biological pathways that alcohol courses through in my bodeh were completely— and I mean COMPLETELY— devoid of alcohol.

It all sounds preposterous, I know, and you might think that I’m bullshitting you or perhaps writing about a girl named Melba who lives with her grandmother Zenaida (because her parents are OFWs in Dubai) in some rundown apartment unit in Novaliches. Melba whose hobbies include cross-stitching the face of Jesus and macrame. Melba whose biggest secret is that she has a crush on her next-door neighbor, Jojo, and that she collects his discarded candy wrappers and keeps them in a box under her bed. Melba who drinks Cali Shandy and whose ideal night out would be trolling her village’s streets at 10 in the evening dressed in a Lee Pipes or a Jag Thug shirt and Dr Lee denim shorts, both two sizes too small. With her cellphone in hand.

No, kids, I was writing about myself. I don’t always fail at taking a shot at sobriety.

My weekend is less than an hour away (I’m on leeeeave! I’m on leeeeeeave!) and it’s a bit puzzling that getting hammered isn’t part of the plan. I don’t even have a plan. I’ve texted half the people in my phonebook asking if anyone wanted to watch The Golden Compass with me and not one of them had the clemency to reply to poor li’l DESPERATE-FOR-A-FUCKING-FRIDAY-NIGHT-OUT me.

Is it because they’re scared I’ll end up dragging them to the nearest watering hole as soon as the movie ends? Is it because I disgusted them when, a few days ago, I texted them asking if they could hook me up with Valium or Stilnox or a hosto from Tondo or all three? Or is it because I only have two people in my phone book and instead of texting lover (who is impotent and would rather fap off to motobikes than spend time with me), I sent the message to my mom (who, as we speak, is probably disowning me and packing all my Antipolo belongings in a cardboard box to store in our carport. Or in the vacant lot beside our house. For the cats and dogs to mangle and defecate on)? Or is it because I’m black?

Yeah. It’s because I’m black, isn’t it?

Here’s a picture from last Saturday night, taken at Cubao X during Lomomanila’s Christmas party. With me is— no, not Melba— Mina, whom I went to college with. Now let’s play a game of Spot The Difference.

Is it our hair? No.
Our eyes (she’s winking, I’m not)? No.
Our shirts? No.
She has more things dangling from her neck? No.

WHAT THEN, FOR FUCK’S SAKE???

She has a degree in International Studies. I don’t.

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