Archive for camwhorage
August 14, 2007 at 10:25 pm | Filed under bitchin' a ride, camwhorage
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.
June 28, 2007 at 2:28 am | Filed under camwhorage, totally domestic
Note to self: Helga. When you’ve just come home from a nine-hour shift at work (plus half an hour of unpaid overtime and a one-hour commute) and you didn’t get much sleep the previous day, the smart thing to do is take a quick shower and hit the sack. You don’t work out for half an hour. You don’t clean out your drawers. You don’t do the dishes. You don’t make a grocery list. You don’t sort your laundry. You don’t take your 6-kilos of sorted laundry to the washers. You don’t go to the supermarket to tick off items on your grocery list. You don’t spend twenty minutes cooking chicken and making a salad afterwards. You just DON’T. Because you’ll wake up with achy joints, a blasted headache, and a half-functioning brain that you’ll have to deal with until 4am the next day. Also, you’ll be sleepy.
Several things about the inhabitants of unit 2A. Or, several things about us as a household:
We are a house of juice-drinkers. We can only go for one day without fruit juice before one of us gives in and heads to the nearest sari-sari store to buy a litro pack of Tang. Well, not really, cos we’re not squatter like that. But don’t be surprised if we come knocking on your door with a glass in hand, asking for juice (and perhaps rum and tuition money). In exchange for sexual favors, if you play nice (like give us rum and tuition money).
We store our things on the floor. We don’t know what those nifty box-like things mounted on our kitchen walls are for (the ones with the little white knobs with rose imprints on the doors), but they’re pretty cool. Same goes for the rectangular things under the kitchen counters; the ones that appear when you pull them out, and then disappear when you push them back in? Awesome, right? Anyway, they make these nifty creaking and slamming sounds when we open and close them. Sometimes, when I need a good waking up, I do that for a few minutes until my ears hurt and I have successfully woken up another housemate.
We’re all really men, which should explain the abundance of condoms strewn randomly around the house. Okay, so that’s not true. It’s just that I emptied out one of my drawers and threw away A WHOLE LOTTA JUNK, including two empty bottles of lube, several condoms, and an ex-lover’s toothbrush. Said drawer now contains a Bible, a rosary, and an El Shaddai handkerchief. In blue.
It’s quite refreshing how seemingly content I am with how mundane my life currently is. I’m starting to fall into this comfortably boring routine of work, domesticity, and the standard weekend rum-a-thon with friends. And camwhoring.
(Yay, I finally figured out how to play with my camera settings. I hate that my stupid Cybershot doesn’t have manual mode.)
That’s all.
June 26, 2007 at 6:36 am | Filed under camwhorage, lists, the helga manual
I’ve been making lots of lists lately for the sole reason that I am out of stuff to blog about, and have resorted to documenting everything with my handy-dandy camera.
Anyway, because everyone else has come up with their “What’s Weird About Me” list, here’s mine. Bah.
1. When buying tees, I have the habit of getting one kind/style in different colors and even in different sizes. An example would be my (fake!) green Aeropostale top; I have it in medium and large. Also, in navy blue. I blame this on having all the colors of the basic Giordano tee when I was in grade school.
2. I never learned how to type properly. My fingers are all over the keyboard when I type. I never thought this was weird until my co-worker Joie noticed it. “Ang kulit mo mag-type! Pero ang bilis pa rin!”
3. My brain becomes paralyzed when assaulted with texts written in Filipino. It freezes as my eyes try to make sense out of the words. And then the words become one big blur. I can speak, write, and read in Filipino, of course, but with effort and with great stupidity. I once said: At nawalan siya ng eksena. It doesn’t help that my housemates are stupid, too, when it comes to speaking the language.
4. I like doing the dishes, the laundry, and cleaning the bathroom because I like the smell of soap, and the feel of bubbles on my fingers. If all things fail, I think I can make a career out of being a maid in Italy.
5. My favorite punctuation mark would be the comma, and I abuse it like anything. The comma would be followed by the semi-colon, and then the hyphen. This is weird, because I actually have a favorite punctuation mark.
6. I hardly have any sense of authority. That doesn’t mean I don’t know who my superiors are; it’s just that I socialize with them in a way that I would with my friends (I bonk my direct supervisor on his head with his keyboard wrist supporter whenever he coaches me). Those whom I can’t get chummy with, I avoid like the plague.
7. I pronounce Tuesday as Tee-yous-day. A video! Hosted on Photobucket because Youtube sucks.
I know it looks like I have a gap between my two front teeth. I do have a gap, but it’s not really that noticeable. Now stop making fun of me :( It’s not my fault that my momma was a hillbilly.
8. My favorite part on a man’s body would be his armpits. It’s a deal breaker. Unsnuggly armpits = bye bye.
9. I name every inanimate object, whether they be mine, or someone else’s. This may be somewhat normal, as we name things to stress our ownership. But have you ever met my water pitchers Oscar, Bettita, and Nicanor? And my hnagers whose names all start with the letter ‘P’? I thought so.
10. I’m OC when it comes to how my browsers/windows are arranged. If they’re not in order, I have to close everything and re-launch all my programs.
Bah. I can only name ten and they’re all lame.
Also, this is me pretending to be serious at work. But if you look closely, you’ll see that I’ve just started a game of Free Cell.
June 19, 2007 at 2:07 am | Filed under camwhorage
Don’t you miss waking up right next to this?
Obviously, I have nothing non-emo to blog about. That’s all.
June 11, 2007 at 11:43 am | Filed under camwhorage, joyful girl
In this entry, I kill your browser with lots of photos because I have been hit by a bout of laziness.
SATURDAY, JUNE 02 aka BIRTHDAY PARTY!
Nevermind that Allah and I can only remember bits and pieces from that night (leading us to believe someone laced the alcohol with E or Valium), it was fun. Judging by the photos, yeah?
This would be my birthday banner. Yes. Maribelle is not my real name.
This is me showing some Absolut Bling-bling loving.
How…apt? :D Here, Adam Mordo shows off the party name tags.
WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE???
Okay, I don’t wanna deal with this right now. More photos here.
SATURDAY, JUNE 09 aka COLLEGE (ka-laydge) PANTY PARTY!
Saturday, eight-ish in the morning, after work. We’ve accepted the fact that we live a junkie lifestyle. We just need a dead baby in a crib and we’re all set.
L-R: Helga, Allah, Drew, Anna, and Aa (new housemate!)
This is what we like to call ‘breakfast’.
First, we make a star. Then we attempt to construct the Eiffel Tower with our fingers.
Can anyone say ‘NECK ACROBATICS’?! Also, I super love this shot. If the pitcher were a flower, it’d be so The Baby-Sitters Club.
Obviously quite drunk. But I would’ve pulled the same pose otherwise.
My best ‘Hey, my name’s Helga, wanna play?’ face.
Drunk cheerleader!
Coincidentally, I was wearing the same pair of panties during my birthday party.
Anyway. I’m broke and sleepy. I’m hoping Aa gets her ass back to the city ASAP because I expect groceries!
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. 
